


Keep it Professional

by Sing



Category: Sleepy Hollow (TV)
Genre: AU, Angst, F/M, Humour, OOC, Romance, Secret Pasts, broken fourth wall, messy lives
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-01
Updated: 2017-06-04
Packaged: 2018-04-02 07:45:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 30
Words: 74,409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4052023
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sing/pseuds/Sing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ichabod Crane is a famous although controversial historian, speaker, and author, writing a widely popular historical series that entwines ancient occult histories, and pries open conspiracy theories, turning them in to fantastic lively widely sold and critically acclaimed novels. His appearances bring out history enthusiasts and conspiracy theorists alike, his articles are lauded by academic peers. He is multifaceted, learned, extremely well off, and as of late....someone with  a penchant for ticking people off.</p><p>Abbie Mills is top of her rank, and has done her fair share of protecting important people, politicians, religious leaders, a pop star or two, but when a suspicious substance is found in a colleagues food, Crane's agent decides it's much too close to home, and Abbie finds herself called in to protect Crane on his book signing tour.</p><p>Along the way, Abbie will have to unravel Crane's past, while trying to ignore her own. </p><p>Retelling of The Bodyguard</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own Sleepy Hollow

"Re-assigned, sir?" Abbie asked as she stood by the door, posture ramrod straight. Frank Irving looked up from his reports.

"Affirmative, Mills. You're headed to Sleepy Hollow, Abe Van Brunt is concerned someone's trying to kill his client."

Abbie took the file that Frank slid across the table to her. Flipped through it. "This guy writes stories. Who would want him dead?"

"Not just stories, Mills. Historical thrillers, occult stuff, biblical things,"

"All I'm hearing is Da Vinci Code," Abbie frowned. "Maybe he's got a fan or two who dress up and get too close to his house but---"

"It's not our job to assess the level of need, Mills. We've been hired for a job, Nicholas Hawley is on a press tour for his latest film in Europe--I know you were looking forward to the trip---but I've got agents that can take care of it. Your concern now, is Mr. Crane. Is that clear?" 

Abbie nodded. "Crystal"

************

"You're overreacting Abe,"

"I don't care what you think Ichabod, you've got me pulling out my hair every time you open your mouth. I swear one more mention of George washington and a mystic bible and someone's going to torch your house, and with my luck I'll be in it!" 

"If you'd take the time to actually read my reference material---"

"I have a life, thank you," Abe spat. "One with a wife, who wants a baby, and if I have a chance in hell of giving her one, you've gotta stop stressing me out writing this inflammatory---nonsense! Reverends possessed by demons, founding fathers and free masons---"

"People love my books"

"Of course they do! They're damning well bloody brilliant, but you've either pissed someone off or utterly enchanted them, because they're putting the ingredients found in your novels elixirs in peoples food at banquets! They're leaving you missives before you arrive at a signing, and they're carving hearts into the covers of your books on the shelves. It's either vandalism or devotion, either way, I've got more money to make out of you, and I'm not having you die while in my care."

"Why Abe, I'm touched."

"Crane I swear I---" a rap at the door. "That'll be your new security detail," Abe explained as he strode over to the door and opened it. Crane was mounting another protest when the door swung open.

"Oh, sorry, I was expecting,"

"Agent Mills," the woman greeted, flashing her badge and marching past Abe at the door and into the her new clients home. It was strangely, woodsy and understated for a man doing as well as he was. Perhaps it was just a vacation home? She went around checking the windows, walked through the back door and checked the surrounding area. Too much forestry back here, she noted, dense too. Easy for an assailant to stalk through. The windows would need reinforcing, the doors too, a solid kick would break them in. Abe and Crane watched, dumbfounded, as the petite, beautiful ebony woman patrolled the room, surprisingly commanding in her presence. She wore her hair up, tightly secured, a moto jacket, jeans, holster for her gun, combat boots. She came back around to them at last nodded to Crane and stuck her hand out. 

"Ichabod Crane, I'm Agent Abbie Mills I will be your body guard as you embark on your promotional tour. I will be your shadow. Wherever you eat, sleep, and relax, I will eat, sleep, and keep vigil. My job is to protect you and eliminate any threats against your person. I have assessed your home and have deemed it unfit for safety. The area here is too heavily wooded, secluded, and your windows and doors are not secure, enough. You will be relocated. This will go smoothly if you are co-operative. I act only in your best interests. I will track your calls incoming and outgoing and record them if necessary, you will report your schedule in full detail to me enabling me to prepare. There will sometimes be others accompanying me as part of your team to larger outings, who you will always be cleared on before hand and they will always be approved by me, personally. Any persons, or guests accompanying you likewise will need to be approved by me, undergo a screening and background check and submit details to me, Understood?"

Crane met eyes with Abe. "Is she serious? are you serious? You might as well put me in a bubble,"

Abbie shook her head. "Unfortunately, the bubble method has yet to yield positive results," she dead panned. Abe grinned.

"Oh, I like her."

Ichabod glared down at the compact sized infringement on his freedom and replied, "I do not."


	2. Chapter 2

"Come on, show me your haunts"

"Excuse me?" Crane retorted, exchanging a glance with Abe.

Abbie checked her watch and tapped her foot. "Places you go, who you know, so on and so forth. " she nodded to Abe. "Make a list of his important things,"

"I am the authority on what I deem important things!" Crane protested, but his friend and agent merely nodded complicity. 

"Aside from his manuscripts, everything here is relics and folk lore. To be honest it might be good for him to not be around it so much. He might be inspired to write some more, light, fiction,"

"Abraham!"

Abbie held up her hand and silence fell. "A list. No opinions necessary. You, come on, lead the way." she gestured to Crane, turning him around and ushering him towards the door.

"This is preposterous!" Crane ranted as he marched out the door. Abbie hung back for a moment to hand Abe a card.

"These guys will be by later,"

Abe looked it over and then back at Abbie, a question on his face.

"They're clear," she assured. "I'll do my job, you do yours, alright?"

"Yes Miss--"

"Agent Mills,"

***********************

Sleepy Hollow was not quite what Abbie had expected. Although, her new charge wasn't what she had expected either. Sure, she'd heard of him. There was talk that there might be an upcoming film adaptation of his novels, launching a franchise. His star was on the rise, if there was any further for him to go at this point. No, she'd never bothered to read his work---the genre didn't appeal. She knew enough about him, however. Knew the year he graduated and where he'd received his masters. The year his first academic article had been published and when his first book came out. Knew his father had been strict and his mother doting, both dead now, tragic car accident in 2005. Knew he'd never been married, but of course there had been women--and she'd find out which ones and how many, and if there had ever been jealous men or adversaries. If there was any spawn kicking about. Her job was to dig up his old skeletons, examine them thoroughly, and then bury them again ten feet. Turn him inside out. His coffee order, his allergens, his drug of choice, if there was any. His routine on any given day, mirror it, commit it to memory and eye him like a hawk while hunting down the leads she had on the strange occurrences that followed Ichabod Crane. 

"This is the Sleepy Hollow Library," he ground to a halt before the steps, sweeping his arms wide, as if he'd just invited Abbie to gaze upon the Taj Mahal. Abbie looked around on the street, steady traffic, pedestrians. No one lurking. No lingering eyes. She jerked her head towards the steps, face expressionless. Ichabod frowned at her silence and with a huff led the way, his long limbs bounding up the steps and gliding swiftly through the front doors, perhaps hoping that his frame would aid him in eluding his new shadow. But alas, Agent Mills was only half a pace behind him. Her eyes alert as she scanned the library, she took two long strides and stopped abruptly before Crane, holding up a hand. 

"No further until I assess the site"

"Oh for the love of---"

"Ssh" Abbie admonished. "You're in a library." She crossed the distance to the reception desk and after some quick whispers was directed to the building map on the wall. "I need a copy of that," she told the librarian, flashing her badge and with a bob of her head and a bit of 'oh me oh my-ing' the librarian retrieved the desired floor plan and handed it over to Abbie who withdrew a pen out of her coat pocket, made some quick markings and then tucked it in her pocket before making her way back over to him. She swept her arm before her. "Proceed,"

"This is entirely unnecessary,"

Abbie followed mutely behind him as he strolled through the rows upon rows of shelves, as if he had memorized their every turn. She checked the aisles, catalogued how many windows were near every aisle, what other people browsing the shelves wore, what book was in their hand. Scanned the roof for loose tiling, anywhere that an assailant could drop from the ceiling and then escape, or conceal something harmful to not just Crane but the public. She stood next to him as he ran his long fingers over spines, his eyes half shut, humming to himself, as if he was communicating with the books themselves. Then, as if a title had spoken to him, his eyes snapped open and he grasped the tome in hand, ran his hand over the cover, murmuring the title to himself before opening it and scanning the first few pages. With a perfunctory nod he moved to tucked it under his arm, but not before Abbie took it from him, flipped through the book and then gave it a thorough shake.

"Agent Mills what are you---"

A note fluttered to the ground. Abbie levelled her gaze with his. Pausing a moment she pulled on gloves before gingerly reaching for the envelope, held it away from her and opened it. She withdrew a scrap of paper and Crane blanched. "That's--" he snatched for it but Abbie held it out of reach.

"Explain it."

"That, that's from my last manuscript, I was thinking of a twist that didn't fit, but I----I threw that idea out, It went in my trash months and months ago,"

"Well, looks like someone went through your trash, months and months ago." she paused to consider. "You are positive you haven't taken this book out before? perhaps you accidentally tucked it in here when you believed you threw it out?"

"No," Crane bit out. "No, that, Caroline was there when I tossed it. We both agreed it would't work for the plot line, couldn't write it convincingly. That, that idea, was never meant to see the light of day,"

"Who is Caroline?"

"You don't already know?" he sneered, but with a glare from Abbie he answered her question. "A friend of mine, I let her read through my things,"

"Before Abe, your agent? What was so important about this idea? how bad was it?"

Crane bristled at the notion that anything about his writing had been…..poor. "It touched on something……explosive"

"Controversial explosive or---"

"No, no," Crane coughed and averted his gaze. "Something more, personal."

Abbie quirked her brow. "Well?"

Crane looked down his nose at her. "Well what?"

"Well are you going to tell me or was that for dramatic flair?"

Crane harrumphed and then reached around Abbie, plucking the scrap from her hands and then tore it to tiny bits. Abbie watched him with a bemused smile and Crane hated to admit it almost came across as charming.

"You can hide your secrets for now, Mr. Crane. But I will find them. And you'd do well not to get in my way," she slammed the book into his chest.

"Oomfph!" Crane clasped the book to his chest and watched as she sauntered down the aisle ahead of him. "You're an intrusive little parasite aren't you?"

Abbie looked over her shoulder at him with both brows raised and Crane then felt incredibly small. "I'll burrow into your skin if it means I keep you alive," she said pointedly. "That's what I'm paid for. Let's not waste time and money, hmm?" she checked her watch. "Let's go,"

"Where are we going?"

"Do you know, I'm not inclined to tell you."

"But----"

"One kept secret deserves another," she replied and motioned for him to follow behind her. Thoroughly ruffled, Crane tucked the book under his arm and they headed for the reception desk.


	3. Chapter 3

He followed Abbie as she kept a brisk pace, and then stopped before the Sleepy Hollow Hotel. Crane balked. 

"After you,"

"Tired of leading are you?" Crane quipped.

"There's something I can grow tired of much quicker than leading, if you get my meaning," Abbie replied as Crane walked through the revolving door. 

To say the Sleepy Hollow hotel was grand was perhaps too kind, but to say that it was mediocre would perhaps be too cruel. It was the sort of place one could comfortably stay without worrying that they had spent too much money, but not enough to have suitable accommodations. It was clean, with a high marble topped desk in the reception area, royal blue carpeting, modest display of flowers scattered throughout the lobby. It was only ten stories high, there was an indoor pool, a dining area, a gym, the usual fare, but all of it had a sort of old world charm. They weren't overly fussed with technology and 'swipe rights' etc to plan your stay. They still printed their itinerary on heavy parchment paper, the staff wore well groomed and tailored vests with buttons and ties around their necks, the keys were traditional room keys, once more, no swiping for access. They had wallpaper. A faded brocade pattern. The music playing was softly classical. The entire atmosphere was at odds with the outside world. Inside the hotel it was too quiet and comfy cozy, with staff that were smiling too much and too happy to see someone stopping in, especially the young man behind the desk, who had leapt to his feet at the sight of Ichabod, eagerly expounding on his intimate knowledge of Cranes work when Abbie shot him down cold, retrieved their keys and instructed the man to direct them to their room. Crane took in the surroundings, baffled by warm comfort he felt from it, and still very much so confused as to why Agent Mills had brought him here. 

They went to the tenth floor, the carpet up here was evergreen. Ichabod noticed that there were two men standing on either side of one of the rooms. Both wearing similar garb to Abbie. Dark shirts and jackets, dark glasses, even though they were inside, with holsters at their waists. Both had their hands clasped obediently before them. Abbie, who had been wearing her own set of oversized dark shades which in the right lighting made her appear glamorous or like a very scary mob boss removed her sunglasses and tucked them into her front pocket. 

"Corbin, Brooks," she nodded dutifully to them and they both gave a quick nod in return. She turned to Crane. "They will guard these rooms when I cannot be present."

Crane sniffed the air. "You multiply like roaches,"

Ignoring him, Abbie pushed open the door, walking him into an ordinary though spacious room, and then through another door and Crane yelped. 

"My, my things!" he whirled on Abbie, coat flying with the momentum, his eyes wild. "What are my things doing here?"

"Corbin and Brooks moved them while we were out. This is where you'll stay while I enforce new security measures on your cabin. These are adjoining rooms, the one out there is mine, and this one is yours. Yours doesn't have a door."

"Are you saying, Mills," he spat. "That I must cross your room before entering mine? and vice versa to leave it?" 

"No getting past me, not on my watch Crane. If you've the time, check my record. I. Don't. Fail." 

"This is a gross obstruction of my privacy and freedom. I am a grown man, an accomplished man, and I can very well handle myself, every last bit of this is ridiculous and----" Corbin silently passed something to Abbie, a sealed, neat envelope, not unlike the one from the library, and carefully shook it out before handing it to Crane. The colour drained from his face. 

Another scrap, a variation on the same plot he had been dancing around for years. Another piece of his stories that was never meant to be told. Abbie studied his face. 

"It's nothing," Crane rasped.

Abbie regarded him seriously. "Corbin says they found that, tucked in among your shelves when they were moving your books. And before you start accusing one of us of forgery, I know my guys writing, and I'm sure you know Abes. Thanks Corbin," she tucked the note away before Crane had a mind to snatch it again. "Now, you're going to tell me who's been in your house for the last month,"

"Mills,"

"a bomb would have been just as easy for them to place, mind you. So please do carry on with your protests," and there was the barest hint of satisfaction on her face. "Oh, and you hand that over."

"No."

"Crane," and he swore she growled his name. 

"I said no, it's personal."

"Death is also rather personal,"

"You will pry this from my cold, dead, hands," Crane hissed, knowing he sounded irrational. But this was a secret for him to carry and for him to tell, in just he right words, in just the right way, to confess without confessing, to shed light without blinding. And he would be damned if he found his life blown six ways from tuesdays because that, that, that, half pint upstart was too nosy and controlling for her own good.

Abbie gave him a measured look and then shrugged. "Fine," she said. "Have it your way, I'll give you some time to think it over," she dangled the keys in his face before walking out of his room, through hers and locking the door securely behind her. Crane watched her go in stunned silence before reaching for his own door only to find it too, had been locked. He was doubly locked into this room. Agent Mills had the only key. And there were two obedient clones outside guarding the unit. He cursed, and then looked down at the scrap in his hand. Someone was taunting him with information they knew could shatter his life…….and when they were through, Crane was sure they meant to end him, as well.

*********************************

Outside the room, really, only a few paces down the hall, Abbie was on the phone. "Hey,"

"Mills," the voice was velvety and warm. She willed herself not to smile at the confidence in it. 

"You've been down here for a bit I hear,"

"Heard from who?"

"You know that's for me to know," 

"And me to find out," the person on the other end chuckled. "What do you need?"

"Maybe I just want your scintillating company"

"Don't tease me like that. It's cruel."

"I'm sorry I hurt your feelings," she barely stifled a snicker. 

"No you're not" they replied, "You call and I'm just supposed to sing like a canary?"

Abbie outright laughed. "I've heard your singing. Where can I find you,"

An exasperated sigh. "Let's not play this game, Abigail. You'll find me, you always do,"

Click. Abbie smirked as she hung up and called to her peers. "Corbin, watch the door, Brooks, do me a favour and case the perimeter. I wouldn't put it past that overgrown book worm to try escaping through a window,"

"Mills," Brooks nodded and Corbin gave a salute. 

***********************

As the door to the warehouse shut behind her Abbie felt and arm lock around her shoulders and a knife levelled at her throat. She released a contented sigh.

"Just like old times" she grabbed her assailants arm and flipped them on their back, the knife went clattering into the shadows and Abbie drew her gun, clicking it as she stomped her foot on their chest. 

"Good to see you--cough---Abigail,"

Abbie cocked her head to the side, taking in the black hair, amber eyes, the chiseled lines of his face. "You look good Orion, you look good,"

"I, ugh, I work out," 

"I'm sure you do," she smiled, never moving the gun from where she had aimed it between his eyes and steadily applying more pressure with her boot. "Now," she whispered sweetly. "You're going to tell me what the hell you were doing trailing my client today,"


	4. Chapter 4

"How did you know?"

"Oh please, 'oh me, oh my' at the library, like I couldn't see that adams apple bobbing up and down, and that over excited desk clerk at the hotel, I'd know your eyes anywhere,"

Orion squirmed under the pressure of Abbie's boot. "Would you move the damn gun? you've made your point,"

Abbie jerked the gun to the right and fired a shot into the ground next to him, Orion shuddered beneath her. "Remember this?" she asked pulling down the neck of her shirt to a scar above her right breast. "When you shot me and hung me out to dry? The betrayal of 2010? So you'll forgive me if I say I rather like the way you look staring down the barrel of a gun,"

Orion winced. " I have regretted that everyday of my life,"

"And that's why you're willing to tell me what I need to know. I spared you even if you didn't deserve it. So spill. Who sent you?"

"I don't know,"

"Don't play with me angel food," she fired another shot into the ceiling. "My aim isn't what it used to be, ever heard of a man having his junk blown off?" she asked, trailing the gun down between Orion's legs and he visibly broke into a sweat. 

"You know I never meant to hurt you,"

Abbie snorted. 

"Any idiot worth his salt as a marksman knows I didn't aim to kill, not you,"

"You betrayed me" Abbie said through gritted teeth, leaning down towards him. "You turned, you put our client in danger and then you bargained with a ransomer and you were quite happy to call me dead, don't deny it. You didn't aim to kill but it would have been best for you if I'd died."

"You had your chance to take me out," Orion hissed. "You had it and you let me go,"

"Because I thought it better if you lived in fear, knowing I could, and would always find you, you owe me Angel," she moved her boot and swiftly aimed it at his groin. Orion rolled onto his side in pain, tears welling up in his eyes. 

"You play a dangerous game with me, I could turn on you any minute, I've ----gasp---done it--before," 

"I'm done talking," Abbie snapped. "Who sent you,"

"And I told you I don't know! I got an email and before I could agree the money was in my bank account."

"They send you to kill Crane?"

Orion glared at her. "I'm not an assassin," 

Abbie laughed but there was no humour in it. "You are if the price is right," her eyes flashed. 

"Look, someone wanted me to grab Crane's current manuscript. Pass it off as their own work maybe. Or just good ole fan turned stalker memorabilia" 

Abbie watched him on the floor, and stepped back. "Get up," she ordered. "Hands where I can see them," Orion slowly got to his feet, hands held high, his face flushed. Abbie bit her lip. To think there had ever been a time when……when they would be doing this together, if you'd asked Abbie Mills five years ago if she thought Orion Angel would turn on her, so openly, leaving her scarred for life in the process, in more ways than one…..she'd have called them a liar. But now, her on one side and him on the other, she wondered how she could have ever thought it could be any other way. 

"When did you get out, anyway,"

Orion sneered. "Aw babe, I'd have come to visit if I had time,"

"Answer.The.Question."

"Three months ago, came down here to lie low, if you'd believe it, but my reputation proceeds me," he gave a crooked grin and Abbie couldn't help it, she gave him an answering smirk. 

"Whether protecting or crooking you're good at what you do," she conceded. "But you're gonna sit tight right there, while I call police,"

Orion rolled his eyes and groaned. "You were recording all of that, weren't you,"

"You know me so well." she flicked open her phone dialled, gave the location and then hung up. "While we wait, you're gonna tell me what you've heard,"

The smile he gave her made her stomach churn. "About him, or her?"

Abbie bit her lip. 

"I know your tells, still, Abigail. Somethings you never forget," 

***********************

"She's a menace!" Crane complained. "She's locked me into this hotel room, with two guards! And there has been no hint of danger, whatsoever Abe! I was indulging you to let you up security, but this, this is ridiculous. And you'd say as much if you were in my shoes!"

Abe sighed on the other end as he gazed at a picture on his desk of his wife, two years ago to the day when their lives were blown apart.

"Are you listening!" Crane shrieked. 

"Hmm? oh, suck it up Ichabod,"

"I beg your pardon?"

"you'd be happier if I let you stumble into a bomb? And by the way," Abe jeered. "I just got a call from Agent Mills. You were being trailed today, they just took him into custody."

"Why didn't she call and tell me herself,"

"Because she knows you don't trust her enough to believe her yet."

"And I trust you?" Crane drawled.

"You're a best selling author, aren't you?" Abe replied coldly. "She's on her way to collect you anyway. Be ready,"

"Abe I---" but Abe had already hung up the phone and just then he heard the locks click and in strolled Abbie, and Crane swallowed. This woman was very different from the one who had just left him double locked and guarded in a hotel room. 

This Agent Mills hair had come undone, tumbling down around her face, this Agent Mills skin was flushed and her chest heaving, and he'd dare say her eyes were over bright, as if they'd just shed tears. And there was the slightest, barest tremor in her hands. There was a fine sheen of sweat on her skin. There was something volatile but vulnerable about her that hadn't been there before, and he wondered if the man she'd apprehended had put up a fight, and if she had been hurt in any way. The fleeting moment of concern shocked him. This woman had been treating him like a heavily guarded criminal, he shouldn't be concerned about her, if she had a rough day, serve her right, it comes with the territory, but the words were out his mouth before he could stop himself. 

"Mills," he began tentatively, "Are, are you alright?" 

Abbie's eyes flickered to his, shocked by the evident concern in his voice before the the hint of vulnerability that had been in her gaze hardened into a business like steely glint. "Fine. come on,"

Her clipped response soured Crane's mood. "Where are you shuttling me off to, this time?" 

Abbie cocked her head to the side. "You don't eat, I take it? or you'd prefer if I called room service up here for you?"

Crane was practically leaping out the door. "I'm actually famished!" he called over his shoulder. "I'm absolutely ravenous!" 

Abbie smiled the barest of smiles at Crane's enthusiasm to be freed from the hotel. 

"You pick the place," she said.


	5. Chapter 5

"I've got contracts and manuscripts coming out of my ear hon, couldn't possibly make it home before ten," Abe chewed his lip and nodded. "I know, I know, but some things can't be helped can they I mean----of course I want this of course I do but----don't be like that love, please, I'm not, you're too worked up, how can any of this work when you're stressed all the time and-----yes, yes, okay sure fine, yeah, we'll, we'll go see a doctor. No it's not you, it doesn't make you any less of----I love you, alright? take it easy and I'll finish up soon as I can," Abe hung up the phone only to find his colleague standing in the doorway. Cynthia glanced at his exceptionally clean, empty desk.

"Couldn't possibly make it home before ten, huh?"

Abe looked up at her with red weary eyes. "I just can't do it anymore Cynn, I don't know how. This isn't supposed to be 'work' it's supposed to be natural, but nothing has been the same,"

"Since she lost the last one," Cynthia concluded, setting her own files down on the desk and seating herself on the edge. "It can be daunting trying to get pregnant, especially if you've lost a few. The grief of it can take its toll on a marriage."

Abe blinked rapidly and looked away. "It's been like this for years, the distance growing between us, but when she got pregnant, I don't know, for a brief moment in time we seemed to be on the right track, but then….then….." Cynthia placed a hand on Abe's shoulder.

"Come on, let's grab a drink,"

"I shouldn't Cynthia, I really shouldn't, I swore that I'd stop----"

"Hey" Cynthia put her hands up in the air. "nothing will happen that you don't want to. Besides," she smiled slyly, tossing her hair over her shoulder in that coy way she had--the look that usually turned things in her favour during negotiations---and might have turned Abe's head once or twice, "I'm seeing someone,"

"Oh?" Abe asked, his brows shooting up. "Tell me," he said, leaning across the desk, "Who is the poor unsuspecting fool?"

"I'm not telling,"

"Oh come on,"

"Nope, you'll laugh at me," she snickered as she rose from the desk but Abe caught her hand in his. 

"I just wanna know if he's up to the challenge, that's all," and though he had just moments before been weary eyed and on the brink of tears, there was still the barest hint of a devilish gleam in his gaze. A look that promised trouble if you didn't tread carefully. 

"Come on now Abe, none of that, let's grab that drink," she insisted, tugging her hand out of his grasp. Abe sighed, rising from behind the desk and grabbing his jacket. 

****************

Abbie leaned back in her chair, taking in the surroundings of the pub Crane had chosen. There was something strangely, familiar about it. Like it was the sort of place where the bartender would know your name and maybe the waitresses gave you extra fries without billing you for them. She crossed her right ankle over her left knee. "I gotta say, this isn't quite what I expected from you,"

Across the table from her, Crane met her gaze over the top of his menu, set it down on the table and templed his long fingers. "I'm a simple man, Mills," 

"Go on," she prompted, giving the menu a cursory glance herself. 

"For all my….accomplishments, I've always been a modest man, I've lived in that Cabin my whole life, and that's it, no spare homes, no vacation properties. I don't drive, and besides the most necessary technological equipment, I don't buy into gadgets and fads. What I spend on," and he paused, as if he was embarrassed by the fact. "Is books, artifacts, which I come by honestly, through travel souvenirs, historical articles etc, charities," 

"Which ones?" Abbie cut in, mildly intrigued. 

"One for literacy, one for inner-city youth, and a sum for the reenactment society here, a group of which I am over fond," 

Somehow the fact that Crane donated to a reenactment society didn't surprise her, when she took in his wavy hair and that rugged long coat, the beard, the boots, well, it just, fit. She gave a small smile and Crane returned it as the waitress came over. 

"What'll you have hon?"

Crane met eyes with Abbie across the table. "Are you ready to order?"

Abbie gave a non committal shrug, her gaze passing over the other patrons. Even if Orion was down at the local precinct, that didn't mean they'd solved the matter of who might want Ichabod dead, so she still had a fair amount of work to do. Crane cleared his throat. "Do you mind if I order for you?"

"Knock yourself out," 

Crane recited their orders and the waitress smiled and then went on her way. 

"So, tell me about the man you caught today," Crane inquired and Abbie blinked at him.

"What?"

"I'm curious what the scoundrel looked like, what he wanted with me." he explained, matter of fact. Abbie snickered at the word 'scoundrel' and Crane was surprised at how white her teeth were, and how her whole face lit up like the sun had risen in it with that brief flicker of amusement. Even though he hadn't uttered anything very funny, he found the expression on her rather, well, pleasing. 

"Don't trouble yourself with it Crane, just a thief working for an unknown," but her gaze slid away from his, every so slightly. 

"Just a thief? so it's all over then?" he asked, moving his head to reconnect with her eyes. 

"No, we still don't know who's trying to kill you,"

"well surely they had some information,"

Oh, Abbie thought, he'd had information alright. 

*************************

Orion had been smug as he relayed the information to her, because like it or not, he knew Abbie needed to know, needed to know badly. Because he knew her. Had known her, for seven years including their run ins since he double crossed her. Abbie had always let him slip through her fingers, he got around, he knew people, and maybe a guilty conscience had always persuaded him to give Abbie info she needed, that and her gun in his face. But maybe she'd been letting him get away from her too, because if she took him out, put him away for good, she'd have to really face the fact head on that she'd been duped. That there hadn't been any redeeming him, and that her trust had nearly cost her everything. Orion being alive allowed her to pretend she had control. That she could ruin him at any moment, not the other way around. However, that didn't mean Orion didn't still know how to get to her, so he fed her what she needed, slowly, bit by bit, enough to make her hunger for details, but not enough to sate it.

" Heard she had a nasty run in with a sultan over some gem they were transporting. I also heard however that she's been trading a bit closer to home nowadays, documents, information, you know the like,"

Abbie had listened silently, not wanting to interrupt the flow. 

"You pushed her away you know. Over crowded her, stifled her, you forced her into it, good luck fishing her back out," 

And because she'd heard enough by then, and could hear the sound of tires outside the warehouse, she'd slugged him in the jaw. She remembered his bloodied smile, triumphant though wounded. 

************************

"Just a crook, Crane, don't concern yourself," the food arrived and Abbie accepted her plate gratefully. "Well, this does look good,"

Crane beamed. "I'm a regular," and Abbie laughed again because the idea that an accomplished academic, author, and possibly on someones hit list could be so proud of being at an average everyday restaurant, was absurd. 

"Enough about me---"

"Pardon? are you implying that the crook is somehow connected to you?" Crane queried. Abbie choked on her drink. Had she just inadvertently admitted that? How could she have let something like that slip? not even her team, not even Irving knew. Abbie recovered quickly, although clumsily.

"Went down the wrong way," she sputtered. "Tell me more about you. What's the score with you and Morales?"

Crane looked over his shoulder sharply, and sure enough, there was Morales over at the bar, wearing a leather jacket with his name scrawled on the back of it. The man in question, was indeed glaring over at their table. 

"He is of no consequence,"

"Ah, now it's getting interesting," Abbie smiled as she put a fry in her mouth. " So what is it, you stole his girlfriend in highschool? oh, I know you totally humiliated him during a debate,"

"Mills, I think you're mocking me,"

Abbie's face went suddenly serious. "People kill for lesser reasons," she said coldly. "Wrong place wrong time and you get a bullet to the brain. So what's the story?"

"He, he is a…..how should I put this, a staunch…..challenger of my articles and literary works. We use to be academic partners, but we had a disagreement on a historic detail, which one I can't remember now, but he simply couldn't abide it, and we've since gone separate ways. We….we used to talk of writing a series together….."

"He thinks you ran off with his ideas," Abbie concluded and Crane looked down at his plate. 

"It's not true," he said, sounding wounded. "We talked of writing something with time travel, a man who by some hex woke up in modern day after he died of a fever, during the 1700's, but it ended there. His version was a bumbling man out of time simply trying to adapt to modern day, who was perhaps overly excited about history, but well, for lack of a better word it was….fluffy. I had a more, fanciful mind than him at the time. I wanted mystery, intrigue,"

" A soldier who died during battle and was awoken to fight the Horsemen of the Apocalypse with the help of a magic book,"

"Mills, have you read my works?" Crane asked eagerly. Abbie frowned.

"No, sorry, it's not my cup of tea. In my line of work, conspiracy fiction just makes life to heavy. But I read your profile and I've done as much research as I can," she added, for some reason not wanting to hurt Crane's pride. To his credit however, he rallied from the momentary disappointment quickly. 

"Yes well, right. And Abe, and the publishers, liked my spin on things, intertwining the time travel story line with Irving Washington's Legend of Sleepy Hollow was entirely my own idea, everything from the protagonists scar on his chest from the Horseman of death's blade---"

"Stop!" Abbie interrupted. "I get it. But Morales is still convinced that he should get some credit, is that it?"

"The long and short. He has tried on more than one occasion to take me to court for it. It always falls through."

"Well, let's not rule him out,"

"You think he'd want me dead over such a thing?" Crane asked, it was almost endearing how hard he found it to believe. 

"Do you or do you not have offers to turn it into a film franchise?" Abbie asked meaningfully and Crane swallowed. 

"Perhaps we should leave? Mills?"

Abbie grinned "No hold on, give me a second, I like the way you look squirming in your seat. I wanna savour this moment for the next time you rebuttal me on my safety measures,"

"I'm going to have a word with Abraham about hiring such a cruel keeper,"


	6. Chapter 6

After they'd eaten, Crane dragged Abbie to yet another bookstore. 

"Do you actually have time to read all of these?" she asked as she skimmed the shelves and the growing pile that Crane had in his arms. "I mean, you are working on a book currently, aren't you?"

"There is always time for knowledge Mills, eventually. And I'm a quick reader,"

"You know, that kind of smugness, I can sort of see why you get under Morales' skin."

"Ichabod Crane has a talent for that, don't you, Crane," came a deathly quiet voice from within the shelves and Abbie had her gun drawn in a blink. Ichabod huffed. 

"Put it away, Mills. It's only the insufferable shop keeper."

As if on cue, an older man emerged from behind the shelves, curling brown grey hair and rounded spectacles, his mouth worked in a clear show of disapproval. 

"You know Caroline promised me you were on vacation," Crane quipped. 

"Funny, Caroline promised me, I wouldn't see you around here anymore,"

"Agent Mills," Abbie interjected, offering her hand for the man to shake. He surveyed her briefly before accepting her hand and shaking it once solidly. 

"Henry Parrish. Shop owner. Caroline, I'm sure you've heard mention, is my pupil and daughter,"

"Adoptive," Crane clarified. "Caroline's parents proved unfit at a young age, and Mr. Parrish took her in," 

"I care for her like a daughter," Henry spat, his eyes full of barely concealed hatred. "I care enough not to want her traipsing around after a man chasing hollywood glory and forgetting the fine art of crafting classic literature."

"My work---"

"Your work is a three ring circus and merely introducing a new act with this movie nonsense. I taught you better. New York Times Bestseller, is that where your aspiration lies? What about something timeless? something that with stands the ages, the novels they'll put on reading lists for writers courses and english study, that become classic film adaptations not blustery block busters and---" Henry was visibly turning red in the face with his passion and Abbie encouraged Crane to take a few paces back.

"Caroline is learning the art. When she isn't….designing," he added with disgust. "I don't want you giving her starry eyed dreams. It's the craft, not quantity, the critical acclaim, not the popularity. Taste," 

Crane was biting his lips together so hard Abbie wondered if he'd have any lips left afterwards.

"Take your books, and go,"

"I've not yet paid---"

"I don't want your money!" Henry roared. Abbie honestly believed she'd felt her hair blow back from the force of it. "Get out! out you, you, you sell out!"

And just like that Crane made use of his long limbs and with the books tucked under his arm crossed the threshold out of the book shop with Abbie jogging to keep up. "Alright," Abbie asked after they had rounded a corner, putting her hands on her hips and checking over their shoulders. Somehow she wouldn't have been surprised if Henry Parrish had been chasing them with a broom stick. "Alright, you're gonna tell me what you did to piss off Mr. Parrish,"

"He's a retired English Professor, and my long time mentor in writers craft. Caroline and I practically grew up together, read the same things, submitted impeccably written essays all through high school. It was all going well until Abe started pushing for me to publish my work, Henry has for a long time been disapproving of….popular art. It's why he despises Caroline's interest in costuming. Glitz and glamour, he thinks it's a toxic trap." Crane sighed. "For all of his….eccentricities. He's never been more than kind and a strong father figure for Caroline, if you'd believe it…..she's also all he has, he never married and never had children of his own, I think perhaps he worries she'll leave him and he'll be left on his own. He's…..he's too stubborn to admit that, of course, and all of my attempts to patch things up have largely gone ignored. I am the embodiment of everything he detests," 

Abbie listened dutifully, and when he was finished she gave a small laugh. "Were you popular in school? or have enemies always been your strong suit?" 

"I……well don't we all have difficulties with the people in our lives? in one way or another? Isn't our greatest enemy our friend at some point or vice versa?"

Abbie willfully shut the door on Orion in her mind, and the other door, that led to someone else who she had 'difficulties' with. "we're complicated beings Crane,"

"My point exactly, Mills. My life just seems to be particularly crowded with them," when Abbie looked up at him out the corner of her eye she saw that he was giving her a slightly amused, lopsided grin. He's kinda handsome. She thought absently. 

"Let's get back to the hotel before we cross paths with another one of your adversaries," 

******************************

"Abe, come on Abe, stop it,"

"I just need a break Cynn, just something to enjoy, something to forget," he rasped as his hands fumbled for her waist, his breath hot on her neck.

"I get it, I do, but don't do this to her, you're better than that. I'm better than that," Cynthia stressed as she tried to pry his hands away.

"You want this," Abe insisted. "Stop pretending you don't, there's something between us"

Cynthia slapped him hard across the face. " It's gonna be a restraining order in a hot second if you don't cut it out," she snapped, watching as clarity dawned in Abe's eyes. 

"Oh my God," he buried his head in his hands. "Cynthia, Cynn, I'm so sorry," he heaved, Cynthia stood apart from him, her arms crossed, scowling at him, hunched over, drunk---how the hell had he managed to get drunk in the short span it took her to go to the ladies was beyond her--- and…..miserable. Just utterly miserable. Should she take pity on a man like Abe? stubborn, full of himself, hiding from his wife like a coward because she had them on a heavily regimented sex schedule, a man who represented talented, brilliant minds, like herself. They'd gone head to head once or twice over the years. They were rivals but close, close, sometimes dangerously bordering on more, friends. But just as he had a marriage to fix, so did she. Drunken nights was not only an excuse they were too old for, but also too pathetic for adults who possessed the faculties to do better. Better started with Abraham Van Brunt going home. 

"Just go home, Abe. And steer clear of me tomorrow," she warned. Wounded, Abe wiped his brow, straightened his tie, squared his shoulders and reached for the door but he paused and called over his shoulder to her. 

"One day, you might not have drunken Abe as an excuse to turn me down. I'd like to see what you do then," 

"Get," Cynthia growled, slamming the door behind him. 

****************************

"I don't know why she doesn't just kill you already,"

Orion sneered at the figure who had come to pay him a visit. "Her heart's too big, it's why she keeps holding out hope for you to come back to the fold. She won't accept that you've turned. Self serving. Like me,"

Abrupt movement and her face was pressed to the bars of his cell, shadows obscured her features but the moonlight caught the gleam of her eyes. "I'm nothing like you,"

"Then why do you run? why do you hide from her? Aside from the fact that she wouldn't let you breathe."

"I'll do what she couldn't Orion, keep talking. You know nothing about us, nothing,"

"I know enough. What do you think she talked about in the dead of night? When tears welled up and her words choked off? you. You. You!" he lunged for her through the bars, his fingers scraping air. "No one could compete with the spectre of you, troubled, wandering, lost."

A startled laugh. "What, you trying to tell me you were jealous? of me? Is that why you double crossed her that night?"

"If you had done your job I wouldn't have been forced to do what I did---"

"My job?!" she shrieked incredulously. "I said, keep the cash, sack the fool holding Jack Sprat or whatever the hell their name was that they were holding hostage and slip away, give me my cut. I never, NEVER SAID SHOOT MY---"

"DEALS GO SOUR AND SHE WAS CATCHING ON." he dropped his voice, "am I supposed to believe that you cared? after you conspired to interfere with her job? and for what, a pay day." 

"No, you KNOW it was more than---"

"and what kills me" Orion rolled his eyes to the ceiling. "Is that I'm left dealing with how to clean up the mess, how to make things right, taking the fall, being the bad guy so she doesn't have to live with the fact that you set her up." screwing his face up Orion's voice was heavy "I loved your sister--"

"Don't you dare try to tell me about love--it was way too easy for you to pull that trigger."

"It's been five years," Orion sneered. "We've managed to stay out of each other's way for so long, to what do I owe this most unwelcome visit now?"

She chewed her lip and brushed her hair back from her face. "I got word of a hit,"

Orion raised a brow. "Oh? and you decided to come to me with it? It's a little hard to do that job from in here," he gestured to his enclosed cell.

"No, idiot. I'm looking for artifacts, valuables, things for trade."

"Paper and secrets not being as kind these days?"

"You know what I want,"

"You're both just alike. Only want me for what you can get out of me, and yet I never ask for anything in return." 

"Talk to me Angel, or I'll give you wings for real," 

"Oh, is that a gun?" he rolled his eyes. "Like I didn't have one of those aimed at me already for the day, point blank range too,"

"When I'm through it'll look like a suicide," she warned.

"Come closer, Jennifer Mills, and ask me nice, and I'll tell you what you need to know,"


	7. Chapter 7

Abbie greeted Corbin and Brooks outside the room and they stepped aside letting her unlock the door and Crane followed her in as she headed for his door when the room shook. 

"Mills?" Crane asked, unsurely, whipping his head around. His voice had suddenly become frightened and less sure. 

"Corbin, check this floor. Brooks, head downstairs," Abbie commanded and the two men set off as she brushed past Crane and with her gun drawn, peered out and around the windows. "In there," she directed Crane to retreat to his room, Abbie followed him in, checked outside his window and then went back out. "Don't move," she cautioned. It had been a long day, what with moving his things and the ominous notes and running into two people he was none to fond of, but still, all of this guarded business had seemed to him a bit like a farce. Until now. At this moment, with Abbie sprung into action and him on lock down, suddenly this felt very real. Having Abbie around had made his life snap into a sharp and violent focus that he didn't have when he'd woken up that morning. There were people in Sleepy Hollow who disliked him. Were out to expose him. Who, though he still found it hard to believe, might very well wish to do him bodily harm. The door slammed as Abbie came back in. 

"Bomb went off down the street, it might have been a distrac---" just then a red light appeared between Crane's eyes, and without preamble Abbie tackled him to the ground, spreading her limbs around him protectively, which was well intended, but not too effective. Her arms curved around his head, her face hovered inches from his.

"Mills!" he exclaimed, 

"Stay down!" Abbie commanded and a bullet tore through the curtain of the room, and shattered the mirror on the wall, it splintered nosily and Abbie shielded him from the shards they'd landed too close to. Crane lay beneath her, heaving panicked breaths, anxiety had made him grip the back of her jacket in his trembling hands. This couldn't be his life, could it? Had someone honestly just tried to kill him? Was Agent Mills, with her vanilla coconut smelling perfume? body lotion? lying on top of him to shield him from a would be assassin? Crane hadn't known, honestly, that he was capable of fear. Shock, perhaps, but fear? No, he was ill prepared for this in every possible way. 

Abbie's heart was racing. That had been too close. First day on the job and that was way too close, she hadn't had such a near miss in years. She counted to ten, very slowly, and then began to straighten, rolling off of him, completely unaware, or just not caring that she trapped his arm beneath her in the process. She lay there a beat, just breathing, before rising to her feet and making a "stay here" movement to him on the floor as she edged to the window, drew her gun and peered out. Nothing. Only darkness. Only the jagged fragments of the glass in the frame. She leaned out, checking the street below. Empty. She cocked her ears. Silence. No foot falls, no rustling foliage. Whoever it had been, they were good. Restoring her gun to her holster Abbie began to turn around. "You can get up now--whoa!"

Crane caught her in his arms, surprisingly strong arms, pressing a hand to her hair, his chin nestled on top of her head. "You saved my life," he murmured. 

Abbie's arms hung uselessly at her sides. Her brain had gone into shock. Never had a client reacted so emotionally to her on the first day. Murmuring gratitude into her hair with such fervour, with arms that seemed to lock tighter as is he was worried SHE was in danger. 

"Are you unharmed?" he asked, pulling back and peering into her face, patting her head and arms as if checking for himself. Abbie's eyes were wide disbelieving saucers this was too….close. She blinked rapidly and shook him off, stepping back. 

"I'm fine, Crane, it's what I'm here for,"

"Mills,"

"Abbie," she sighed, because if he was going to get all emotional about the incident, he might as well use her name. 

"Abbie," he repeated, the word sounding so weighted and heavy and meaningful. "You risked your life for mine,"

Abbie shrugged. "I'd take a bullet for you Crane. That's my job. To lay my life on the line for yours. So you gotta trust me that everything I do is in your best interests, that was very nearly your head." she gestured to where the mirror used to be and then ran her fingers through her hair and cursed.

"What is it?" he asked, finally straightening and stepping away which was a shame because she smelled really nice and her eyes were full of emotion and passion for her profession which was shockingly entrancing. 

"Well, we've got to move you now." she cursed again. "This location isn't safe anymore. The staff here have clearly been compromised." She groaned again and punched the wall. Crane winced. "Not even a day here and you've been found out. I think you'd better cancel that signing you have next week,"

"Abb-Mi--Millsbie?" 

Abbie quirked a brow at him. "That ones new," 

"That signing is home to my largest fan base, they'll be greatly upset."

"What did I just tell you about questioning me?" Abbie marched up to him, met his gaze and Crane swallowed, because there was something unsettlingly…..intriguing about a woman who commanded space as much as she did, whose gaze made his neck hot. 

"I would literally step in front of a bullet for you, but don't make me do it in vain. I'm calling Abe," she whipped out her cell and called for Corbin and Brooks downstairs. "Get up here, asap, I have to make a call," What felt like seconds later Corbin and Brooks came bounding into the room and Abbie gently patted Crane's arm. 

"Stay here, these guys will protect you, I'll be right back,"

She strode from the room, down the hall, punched the elevator and once inside began to shake. She needed to call Abe, but she needed to check something else first. The staff at Sleepy Hollow Hotel had clearly been breeched by the assassin. And Abbie could only think of one person who had seen her check in Ichabod Crane today. Who would have given them their room key.

Abbie must have been moving in a trance because she suddenly found herself outside of the Sleepy Hollow Precinct, and there was a commotion outside. Her heart sank. As she drew nearer she caught snippets of conversation floating to her. 

"Escaped….."

"Cell unlocked……"

Abbie would not panic. She would not. She was trained for this. Her phone jolted to life and she answered it. 

"Hello,"

"Since your feelings were so hurt the last time, I wanted to let you know, personally. I'm out, Abigail,"


	8. Chapter 8

Abbie surveyed the nighttime streets calmly while she held the phone to her ear. There was chatter and buzzing from flashlights and reporters had shown up to run with the story, crook on the loose. "Where are you," she asked, her voice low.

"What's this, you aren't even going to try to track me the way you usually do?"

"I don't have time for games, Orion," she snapped, keeping her actions neutral as she sauntered further away from the scene. 

"As I recall you loved playing, games, Abigail," and she could hear the smugness in his voice, the surety that he had somehow managed to outsmart her.

"When I find you--"

"If, Abigail, the question has now become if. I found myself amidst a rather fortunate resource this evening. You look lovely, by the way," Abbie's skin crawled and she willed herself not to check over her shoulder. She wouldn't show any immediate sigh of paranoia. Instead she glanced around casually, craning her neck back in the direction of the Precinct. 

"You made yourself quite a spectacle." she commented absently, "You'll be on the news tonight,"

"Like having my name up in lights," Orion mused, sounding pleased at the idea.

"Listen, Angel,"

"No you listen, Mills," his voice cut through in what could only be described as venomous disdain. "I'm calling the shots now. I've had enough cat and mouse with you. We're playing by my rules. My terms."

"No way in hell, I don't bargain with crooks, criminals, traitors,"

"Ex-lovers," Orion added, his tone filled with malice. "You will if the price is right,"

"Yeah?" she shot back, her voice rising. "And what's that?"

"Ichabod Crane's life," 

*****************

Jenny prowled through the halls, hoping that she hadn't fallen for a rookie trick when a panel gave way, swinging into another darkened hallway. She muttered a curse under her breath. She felt as if she'd been wandering these damned tunnels forever. The labyrinth that she had been so highly recommended to, had so far brought her nothing but a never ending headache. She hoped that it would prove fruitful at least. She had a hot shot movie star who paid big for rare things, she'd been hunting down things for him for years, quietly. But he was temperamental and flighty, as a blow hard, "Hottest man of the Year" could be and bored easily. He was always dying to find the next exciting thing because he loved collecting so much. She came to a branch in the hall, and on a whim chose to go left. A torch flared to life on the wall and she paused considering. "Well, this is fortunate," she said, pocketing her flashlight and trading it for her gun she continued to advance down the hall until she came to a heavy door. Jenny smirked to herself. Heavily guarded doors? Hidden passageways? could only mean one thing. Valuables. Rummaging in her jacket for her tools, Jenny set to work on the door. 

"Whatever I find here, Hawley's gonna love it," 

*******************

Crane paced up and down the hall between the two men. He'd tried striking up conversation but they weren't having it. Brooks deliberately turned away from him, and the other young man, Corbin, kept an impassive face. Nodding on occasion as Crane's gentle inquiries turned to him rambling. "And that is why, George Washington liked ballet---are you even listening?" he cried in exasperation. Corbin gave a curt nod, Brooks for what must have been the fifteenth time disinterestedly and pointedly looked away. 

"Where has Abbie---"

Both men looked at him sharply. Crane's face flushed. He had been over familiar. "Where has, Mills, gone?" he continued. The two men shared a glance, some silent conversation transpiring between them before Corbin spoke.

"To investigate," 

"Yes, but what," Crane pressed, getting irritated. "Investigate where, she said we're going to have to relocate and we should be doing that now and--"

"You talk too much," Brooks interrupted. Crane's gaze snapped to the agents face, his rigid posture, and furrowed his brow.

"I beg your pardon?"

Brooks leaned imperceptibly forward. "I said you talk too much. Ask too many questions."

"Abbie----"

"Mills," Brooks corrected bluntly. "Agent Mills. She has been trusted with your safety, and us, subsequently to help her preserve it. Trivia is not part of the arrangement,"

Crane balled his fists at his sides, straightened his posture and spoke, very carefully, his voice low. "Agent, Mills," he pronounced deliberately. " made it quite clear this morning that transparency would be necessary---"

"For her part, not mine," Brooks all but snarled and Crane's hair stood on end. Corbin regarded them with mild interest, otherwise, his ear was cocked, as if listening to anything that wasn't what had suddenly become a heated exchange. "You stay here and be quiet until Agent Mills gets back," 

"I'm not going to stand for this, this is disrespect. I am not a child," Crane argued, moving to storm out of the lobby but Corbin seamlessly glided into his path.

"Can't allow it sir. I don't dare cross Abb--"he ticked his gaze to Brooks and corrected himself. "Agent Mills, myself. We'll all be wanting bodyguards if she finds out we let you out of sight,"

"Besides," Brooks added. "Something bad might happen to you if you wandered off. And we don't want that,"

Ichabod doubted that. In fact he thought that perhaps Agent Brooks might like that very much. 

**************************

Abbie smashed her phone into the ground before fully thinking the action through, stomping on it repeatedly before realizing her error and scrubbing a hand across her face in frustration. "Damn him." she grumbled. "Damn. Him." she repeated as she began making her way back to the hotel. 

Once through the doors Crane exclaimed and rushed towards her.

"Miss Mills!" 

Abbie waved in response and that was the only thing that stalled Crane as his arms came up, possibly to hug her again. To cover, he opted to throw his arms in the air. "Where have you been?"

"We'll talk about it later, hey guys, anything to report?"

Another quiet exchange before they both sounded "Nothing," but Ichabod seemed......troubled.

"Hey," she said, frowning as she grabbed his arm and pulled him aside. "You okay?"

"I'm, I'm quite fine, Miss Mills,"

"No Mills, no Abbie, no Millsbie?" she teased, and Crane gave her a small smile. 

"To go purely by your last name feels too cold, too informal, to address someone who saved my life tonight," he replied. "You were gone for a while….I was….concerned." his eyes searched hers, she had disappeared on him once earlier that day, and when she had returned she had seemed visibly shaken. Now, she was controlled and calm, cool, like a glacier. He found either extreme troublesome, he wanted to know what she was doing in interest of protecting him that was pulling her in such opposite directions. 

Touched, Abbie patted his arm, "No need for that Crane, really." She assured, as she reached for the phone at the reception desk.

************************

Abe stumbled out of the taxi as he walked up the front steps of his home when his pocket began buzzing. He answered it tiredly.

"Honey I'm literally just putting my key in the door," he sighed as he aimed and missed the slot, again, then again. There was a pause on the other end before a very different voice answered.

"Agent Mills," And Abe snapped to alertness, at last his key struck true and he turned the lock, pushing the door open. 

"I'm listening,"

"There was a breech at the hotel. I advise we cancel his appearance next week," she said. "And maybe get him out of town for a bit,"

"I have a cabin on the lake," Abe suggested.

"I'll send Brooks to you with details. I'm having an issue with my phone,"

"Will do," Abe hung up, setting his bag on the floor and as he straightened his gaze landed on the pale feet standing a few paces before him. His gaze travelled upwards until he locked eyes with his wife.

"Who was it? she asked, her voice soft.

"Crane's new bodyguard, Agent Mills,"

"Oh, I thought it was her,"

Abe bristled, shrugging off his jacket and unbuttoning his collar "Her who?"

She turned on her heel and began to walk away, her long hair swaying behind her. "You know who," she replied, her voice tight, a sure precursor to tears. Abe rushed after her, grabbing her arm.

"Look at me," he implored and her eyes found his. "There is no one else, Katrina," 

Katrina nodded mutely but looked away from him. "Is Ichabod alright?"


	9. Chapter 9

Cynthia circled her finger around the rim of her glass, the phone rested on the counter, on speaker. She tiredly acquiesced to yet another cancellation. Her weariness traversed the divide to the other end, and her husband sighed, feeling the weight of disappointment, hers and his own. 

"I would if I could Cynthia," Frank said. "I"m surrounded by work, president has an appearance tomorrow and I've got a noble prize winner presenting an award and---"

Cynthia's mind flickered to Abe making flimsy excuses to his wife on the phone earlier, expounding on overbearing work loads. 

"I know, Frank, I know,"

"You don't believe me,"

"I do, Frank, I do," whether she did or not was besides the point, nowadays. They'd been giving their marriage another go for the past four months, and it had shown promise of getting back on the right track. Until the last month, she had been positive a reconciliation was on the horizon. But Frank was a man made of duty, and she a woman made of swiftly moving tides, and she couldn't, wouldn't stand still waiting for Frank to recommit. She'd never wanted to come between him and work. And she didn't begrudge his job, but she knew, too, that she needed more. Would always need more. And be it paperwork, lives to save or simply a lack of interest, Frank wasn't quite up to the task of providing it, and he knew it too. 

"I love you, Cynthia," he pleaded. "I'll try and get away next week, to see you,"

"I'm not going to be here, there's a Rebel Reads convention in Toronto, I'll be there for two weeks with Dashner and Clare," 

A potent pause, another weary exhalation. "Goodnight, Cynthia,"

"Take care Frank,"

*****************************

The door swung open and Jenny whistled appreciatively. She'd never seen so many artifacts, so many maps and tomes, books, articles, fabrics, paintings. She carefully began combing through the horde, salivating at the thought of the prices she would fetch for half of these goods when the door clicked behind her. "State your business." 

Jenny pats the gun in her holster and turns. "You state----well well" she draws the weapon slowly. "You sure you know what you're doing with that gun there girlie?"

"Make a move and I guess we'll find out" she chirps, eyes too innocent and bright. 

"Well, I do like surprises."

And shots are fired.   
***************************  
"Won't be in the office this week you'll just have to antagonize someone else," Abe says jovially on the phone and hear's Cynthia's answering chuckle on the other end. 

"You, taking time off? Is the world ending?"

"Oh it'll feel like it, I'm hiding away Crane---new bodyguard claims a breech of the current location."

"She sounds good." Cynthia replies, digging through papers and grabbing a pen. "So where you headed?" she gives up on the desk and spins around to her cabinet, pulling out drawers. 

"Ah. Can't tell you that. Suppose you're the one who wants to kill Crane?"

She audibly snorts. "Yep. Femme fatal. The role I was born to play."

"Let's not rule you out just yet," he says, she can hear the low teasing note in his voice. "I have a feeling you can be very dangerous if you put your mind to it," 

"Careful what you wish for Van Brunt---ahh here we are. Look I gotta get a press tour in order for Laini Taylor, have fun this weekend, stay safe, yadda yadda" 

"Yeah I'll miss you too," 

"Bye Abe"

"Bye Cynn" 

"Everything in order at the office?" Abe jolts and turns to find his wife looming in the door. She does that a lot lately, sneak up on him, visits upon him looks of disapproval and suspicion. He's never honestly given her reason to worry before so he can't make sense of her change in demeanour. He tries to chalk it up to the grief of their last miscarriage, the strain of him being consumed by work. The prior downhill path they had been on before the pregnancy. And now the decided accelerated speed they seem to be hurtling down that same path. 

"Perfectly organized."

"No meetings you'll be missing, manuscripts you want me to pick up while away?" 

He scrunches his brow. "Kat, you're coming with us, aren't you?"

"I'm not sure if I believe it wise." she tosses her head. "I don't feel well."

"Want me to stay here?" 

"Oh, no no. Go ahead. You can hound Ichabod to stay focused and listen to the new bodyguard. I'm sure they'll need the help."

"Agent Mills seems to have him quite in hand. To be honest. She could probably manage him fine without me, if you preferred I stayed."

Katrina's face registers shock. "She?" she echoes. "His new guard is a she?" there's a strange note to her voice that Abe can't make sense of. Disbelief. "Morning noon and night with a female." she continues. "You think that's a sound idea."

"She's top class Agent, Katrina."

"You can't trust that lines won't be blurred, you know how easily carried away Ichabod is he might---"

Abe shakes his head. "I really could care less so long as he's safe at the end of the day and making money for all of us. And I doubt anything will happen. They're off to a fantastically disagreeable start." he laughs to himself. "He called me today to complain about her already." 

"Perhaps I will come." she announces suddenly. "If nothing else, it must be tiresome looking after Ichabod all day. He can wear on someones nerves---and we haven't been away for a while either. This, this will be good for us." she smiles sweetly at him but in truth it comes across sour. 

He blinks rapidly, adjusting to his wife's sudden change of heart. "Alright then, alright. I'll let Agent Mills know. Oh, and Katrina dear, now that you've mentioned it, Cynn has a copy of a manuscript two of our authors are working on. Actually if you could pick that up for me, it would be a great help."

"Cynn?"

"Hmm? oh Cynthia, you know her" 

Katrina grits her teeth and bobs her head, hair cascading over her shoulder. "Of course Abe. I can pick it up for you today."

"Thanks love." he says, rising from the seat as he passes her he plasters a kiss to her cheek, stroking her face before heading for the kitchen. Katrina inhales deeply and goes to get dressed. 

It's been a while since she's crossed Cynthia Irving.


	10. Chapter 10

When Cynthia Irving first turned up at the company party,years ago, Katrina was tossing her vibrant red hair over her shoulder, laughing with one of the new authors that Abe had just signed and had continued to expound on this mans brilliant mind. He had goldenbrown wavy hair and twinkling blue eyes. A distinctive, stubborn british drawl that had enchanted more than one ear across the room, drifting over to listen to the soft rumbling cadence of it. 

For all of the flight of fancy that his stories contained---from what she could gather, he seemed taciturnly sensible. Very proper, prim. Old world manners that seemed to have no place in the bluster of the modern world. The hand kissing type. She's sure she flushed like a schoolgirl when he did it upon introductions, much to the boisterous delight of Abraham who had found the whole spectacle of it highly amusing. No sooner had the intro been made then he had fluttered off to chat with _his_ new peer, and her husband. A marriage that, not unlike theirs in the years to come, teeter tottered from companionable bliss to distant strain.

Had she been able to tear her gaze away from this dashing man, in a rather unusual frock coat---an endearing eccentricity---Abe had said, she might have noticed that Cynthia, sleek hair and red satin festive blouse, nipped into an expensive, well tailored skirt, tastefully accessorized, seemed to have the same drawing effecton Abraham that the new author had on her. Through no fault of her own, she tried to remind herself, Katrina never could muster the amount of excitement and range for literature Abe had. He was wide read, across the board, while Katrina herself staunchly preferred period historical fiction.

Perhaps the reason she found Ichabod Crane's novel premise so intriguing. She felt she was really talking to man from a different time. A different world. One that, truth be told, Katrina sometimes had felt she belonged to more than her present.

So she was, for lack of a better word, pleased, when Ichabod Crane started to float around them more frequently. When their eyes might have lingered in mutual amusement or disdain over some comment Abraham had made.

Around this time she might have noticed that Abe had managed to get himself reverse involved in the marriage of Frank and Cynthia Irving. He brought them up at the oddest times, even though they had become tentative friends with the couple. When Frank was away he seemed overly concerned about the time spent in the city. When Cynthia might not mention him at all for weeks. "It's odd for a woman not to talk about her husband, isn't it?" he'd asked one night at dinner.

Considering she rarely brought up Abe if she was in conversation with her own female friends, or Ichabod, it hadn't seemed that strange to her, at all.

It wasn't until new years, three years after she'd first met Crane and the Irving's, that Abraham hadn't met her at the stroke of midnight, but had been instead, chatting amicably, trying to cheer up the woman who had been---by circumstance not choice---Cynthia had kept assuring him, had been marooned by her husband on new years who was instead tied up in an investigation.

She'd torn through the hall as the clock began to toll, a delicate menace in a blue satin dress with a fashionable long train, hunting for him, and had found him outside on a balcony with Cynthia. Seemingly oblivious to the wrongness of his place at this time. Cynthia was leaning on the rail, head turned coyly to the side, half smirking at something Abe was saying and trying very hard not to let on she found him funny. "Katrina will be wondering about you," she'd managed, head still turned away.

And truthfully, it might have been something in this moment, whether wholly friendly or not, this may have been what constituted a turning point. Abraham, her beloved husband, had reached forward, a hand to Cynthia's chin, tilting her head up towards his, and had countered, softly, too softly, too warmly."Frank should be wondering about _you._ "

Katrina had waited for the betrayal. Voices cheering and screaming in the background "Five, Four! Three!" Had waited for it to become a concrete irreversible thing, a justification for the forbidden simmering thought that brewed in the back of her mind.

"Two! One!"

Their eyes had held, but then Cynthia had laughed, moving his hand away. "Happy New Year, Van Brunt," and had sashayed away, flashing her an innocent smile as she passed. "There you are Katrina, Happy New Year."

"You too, Cynthia," her voice had sounded brittle edged to her, and her throat had been dry. She had met the eyes of her husband then, his face an inscrutable expression as he watched Cynthia leave and then turned to his wife that had appeared, eyes crinkling and a smile lancing across his face as if shot with an arrow.

"Happy New Year, Hon" he'd cooed, and then she was in his arms, and his lips on hers, like they should have been when the new year broke at exactly the stroke of midnight. And she'd known then, in her core, it wouldn't matter which one of them made the wrong move, first. She'd already decided.

*******************************

"Hold my calls until after one please," Cynthia asked politely, not looking up from her desk. Hair up today, her fringe slanted to the side. Evergreen blouse, tastefully undone. And a pendant that crosses Katrina as being eerily familiar.When there's no response Cynthia at last looks up with a small gasp of surprise.

"Katrina!" she greets warmly, pushing from the desk and coming around to embrace her. Katrina does inventory of the rest of the woman's garb. The skirt that hugs her curves and the navy pumps. Dainty bracelets dance around her wrists. She is glittering and sparkling life and Katrina's hand flies to her throat a second before Cynthia reaches her.

She knows why that necklace triggers something in her brain.

She has one at home.

Abraham gave her one just last Christmas. Any Cynthia too, it seems. She tries in in that moment as she pats Cynthia back with faux affection to convince herself that Abraham has not been carrying on an affair with this woman, for this long. Whether or not she likes Cynthia Irving, she's sure this woman has morals.

Abraham however.

"I haven't seen you since---"

"It has, been, a while," she finishes stiffly, still eying the green stone dangling at Cynthia's throat. After a moment Cynthia tracks her gaze and laughs.

"Stupid thing from Frank," she explains. "Gave it to me last time I saw him….a few months ago," she trails off and her brilliant light visibly dims. Katrina feels the briefest flash of satisfaction. Hers is not the only marriage on rocky grounds.

"Peculiar," Katrina drawls. "Abraham gave me one, identical, last year for the holidays."

Cynthia's eyes widen and she laughs earnestly. "Hell. What are the odds they know the same jeweller?" She begins sashaying back toward her desk. Katrina can't help but follow the sway of hips and graceful line of her neck and she fumes to think this woman shares work space with her husband. Daily. " What brings you by Kat?" she asks brightly, settling back down behind her desk, gesturing for Katrina to join her.

"Abraham requested I pick up some manuscripts"

Cynthia's brow furrows. "Oh. Well, give me a second," she says, rummaging--maddeningly slow--in her drawers and then begins to speak, head still bent as she sifts through files. "How have you been? Alls well with you?"

"…..I'm well. Thank you."

Cynthia's hands stop rooting and close around a folder, but she doesn't straighten. "Yeah? That's good to hear." but her tone of voice is off and Katrina's hackles raise.

"Yes?"

A deep breath and finally Cynthia straightens up, blowing away escaped wisps of hair from her face and sets the papers down. "Abe's been acting strange, is all."

"oh?"

Abort Cynthia, the words chime in her head. This is not your business whether Abraham lies about his work load or is avoiding going home or that he made an ill thought drunken pass at you the other night.

Besides. You'll have to admit that while he was avoiding his wife, he was with you. That he drove you home and you were laughing and joking all the way to your door before he made his mistake. She hasn't done anything wrong. But something about it makes her feel a bit guilty now. If she's being honest, there's always been something distantly guilty about her friendship with Abe. He comes on strong in the charm department and has a dogged determination to make people like him. Sometimes she thinks she jokes with him now because he finally wore her down with his persistent chatter and outrageous humour.

"Distracted,"she replies simply, hoping that's enough to navigate away from the stupid direction she chose to take the conversation in.

"He always is." Katrina quips, a small smile flits across her face as she extends her hand for the folders. "Thank you," she murmurs as Cynthia places them in hand and she rises, straightening her shirt. "Abe will want to read these while we're away this weekend."

"You're going with him" Cynthia nods approvingly. "Good. Get away a bit"

"Good to see you, Mrs. Irving."

Cynthia pauses at the cold formality of it but smiles anyway. "You too, Katrina."

*************************************

The bullets fire and Jenny drops and rolls as her assailant advances but amidst the exchange there is the chorus of laughter. "Don't leave, the funs just starting!" the voice chimes.

"I agree" Jenny calls back, rising briefly to fire and ducking back down.

The sound of scuffling feet as the other drops to the ground. "You know I'm going to go out on a limb and guess you didn't come in here to shoot up your quarry."

"It's like you keep reading my mind!" Jenny replies enthusiastically. "But I come in here and there's another bitch wielding a gun and I'm like, really vain? So like, I kinda have this thing where I have to make sure I'm the only bitch wielding a gun in the room. All the time."

"I'll drop mine if you drop yours."

"You're gonna tell me why you're here in the first place. And don't tell me Orion sent you here too because I swear I will---"

"I don't work for whatever thug your serve. My orders come from the mass hoarder himself. And I'm glad to keep it safe for him."

Jenny chuckles darkly. "You? a guard dog?"

"A lot of people look once at me and look away. Don't make their mistake, thief. This gun didn't come out of Barbie's accessory pack."

Intrigued by the amount of sass this woman is able to volley her way Jenny slowly rises, arms above her head, gun held high. And she can'thelp that she snickers.

The absolute slip of a thing, with her shiny hair and sweet face is so at odds with this whole situation it's like some hilarious dangerous mistake. If she moved quick she could snap her neck. But she'd have to be faster than the gun aimed her way. Contrary to her prior plea, the woman has not dropped her gun, instead holds it steadily trained on her.

"State your name."

"Chloe Germain,"a raised brow, skeptic. But Jenny holds firm. "You got a problem with my name sweet heart?"

"If it's really yours it doesn't suit you. What do you want here."

"I think you summed it up when you called me a thief"

"So I was right."

"Yeah you were. You got me."

"So what now"

"You're the one got me at gun point girlfriend you tell me" the woman falters, as if she hadn't been prepared for this to be real. Jenny takes the moment of distraction and vaults over the table, knocking the gun from her hand and locking an arm around her neck. The woman makes a garbled panicked sound. "You waited too long," Jenny coos. "I was starting to get bored. Now here's what's gonna happen G.I Jane. Miss, Congeniality, you're got let me have my pick of litter of this place and then you're gonna get yourself out of town."

Her eyes widen. "People will think I did it! They'll--"

Jenny tightens her grip and gives her a shake. "That's exactly the point" she hisses. "Gives me time to get away."

"I'm not really a guard here," she begins to choke. "This stash belongs to a friend of mine, I just watch it for him."

"You expect me to believe he doesn't know you case the place?"

"He doesn't!" she protests, voice gone small and feeble, nothing like the cocky spitfire that was trying to corner her earlier. It hurts Jenny's heart a little that her spark is so easily snuffed out. "He's not a suspicious man---he trusts almost everyone, he doesn't think anyone would have reason to want these things but---" reflex makes her tug tighter so she slackens up a little, keeping her gun pressed in her captives back. "He's had some attempts on his life."

"So you decide to come here and protect his stuff, rather than him?" Jenny cackles wickedly. "Shows where your priorities lie. You might be my kinda girl after all."

"He values these things, I thought there might be something---"

"It's one or the other, either you were looting yourself or you don't care that much about your friend."

"I don't need to talk to you,"

Jenny presses the barrel harder."Think on that for a minute." she encourages. "Think _hard_ on it."

"I just want to help him." she whimpers. Jenny rolls her eyes. She's come down to hard with the threats so she'll get nothing but fearful mumbling now.

"I'm gonna tie you up--what's your name?"

"Caroline," she rasps.

"That's a pretty name." Jenny agrees. "Sweet, like you. I'm gonna blind fold you, Caroline, tie you up, and then I'll get you out of here and you're gonna head home, pack your things and take a holiday. Sound good? I'm letting you live and everything."

Caroline nods hurriedly.

"Good girl," Jenny coos, pressing a little kiss to the woman's ear, just to feel her shiver before she knocks her on the back of her head. She slumps over instantly like a rag doll in her arms. Jenny lays her on the floor, digs in her back pocket and pulls out some scraps to bind. Thieves keep these things. After Caroline's bound she leans her up in the corner and then turns hungry eyes and greedy fingers on the impressive cache or rarities. She's got work to do.

While she peruses the wares calmly she does wonder though, how strange is it Caroline has taken up protecting her friends things without his knowledge? Armed? She'd said before people over look her. What other talents does Caroline hide?

"No time for that, Chloe Germain," Jenny chuckles to herself as she picks up a scroll and unfurls it slowly. She looks it over, turning it from side to side and shakes her head. "Hell if I know why Hawley collects this but I'm not gonna argue with his money," she decides, rolling it back up and tucking it under her arm.

***********************

It's the weekend and Abraham has just pulled up outside their cottage on the lake. He gets the door for Katrina and then heads around for her bags. As Katrina approaches the steps the doors fly open and there's a small statured woman standing there. Curly wavy hair pulled back severely. Jeans, tank, jacket and a scrutinizing expression on her face. "Hello how can I help you?"

"Easy Agent Mills that's just the wife," Abraham booms jovially as she comes around with her suitcase.

She sweeps an assessing gaze over her from head to foot in a deliberate manner that makes Katrina feel like a criminal before she extends her hand and nods. "Agent Abigail Mills."

"A pleasure," Katrina manages tightly. Even dressed severely as she is, she can plainly see that Crane's new body guard is an attractive woman. She's got eyes that dance a little, shimmering in the sunlight. Truly they're arriving late. Agent Mills and Crane have been hear, hiding out, laying low for nearly a week since the bomb scare at the hotel. It was Katrina that held them back from joining sooner. She hadn't been away in a while, and hadn't seen Crane in so long, she'd booked a salon appointment for hair and nails and did a little shopping, went to the doctor too, before they'd left. They're a four hour drive from town, almost entirely off grid save for the other cottages out here. She thinks she can hear children splashing in the lake. Children. She feels a pang for a loss she hasn't recovered from and averts her gaze to pearlescent toes.

Abbie releases her hand, exchanging a glance with Abraham who shrugs in a manner that conveys his wife often befuddles him, and begins to sidle past.

"Ichabod you layabout come help with these bags!"

"You are nothing if not polite," Crane quips as he jogs toward the door.

He's cut his hair. Katrina notices as he approaches. His shirt half undone in an easy dismissal of propriety he had never shown before around her. But he's evidently been comfortable here, with this woman in charge of his safety. 

He smiles briefly down at Agent Mills who studiously looks elsewhere off into the horizon and Katrina feels a knot form in her throat.

Ichabod Crane has been here for nearlya week with Agent Mills, _alone_.

"Katrina" he exclaims softly, she can't decide if the look on his face is one of surprise or dismay. He glances again at Abbie, turning around silently to head back into the house. He watches her easily squeeze past him.

Katrina watches him, watching her.

"She needed to get out of the house," Abe declares, startling them both. "Two birds one stone, vacation and salvation in one, eh?"

His friend and wife lock eyes. "Brilliant idea, Abraham," he replies weakly.

But Crane doesn't look happy to see her, at all.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter takes place before they arrived at the safe haven of the cabin. So the long drive up, with just the two of them, and then next chapter will be some of the time they've been at the cottage alone, waiting for Abe and Katrina to show up.
> 
> So what I'm saying is. Lots of tension, awk and backstory.

The drive was long and tedious and they spent a good portion of it not speaking. She didn't have anything to say, and got snappy with him when he insisted on chatter. Nothing quite bruises the man's ego so much as being told it is not ones desire for him to be heard. The level of silence he enforced after her last snap was almost hostile. He sat ramrod straight, mouth in a firm line, head turned deliberately stiffly out the window. She hadn't bothered to tell him he'd have a crick in it later. Instead she had listened to him occasionally grump and harrumph when he was annoyed with the station on the radio, and fiddled in an agitated manner, trying to get it to tune to something palatable. However the more they drove, the more indistinguishable the radio chatter became. Songs cut in and out, interviewers voices became garbled, until another annoyed grunt made him shut it off entirely, glare in her direction---as if she was at fault for him being bored , and in a way, her idea to get him out of town, perhaps she was---and had gone back to gazing out the window.

**********************************

They were at the three hour mark when someones stomach disturbed the quiet. They both were trying so hard to ignore the other neither seemed inclined to acknowledge the sound had been made, whether by the other or themselves. Another growl and whine before Abbie shifted a little in her seat, in a vain attempt to wrangle her gut mute and she noticed his gaze sliding, grudgingly,her way. "What breed" he sniffs.

"What" she shoots back.

"The animal bellowing inside of you, Agent Mills,"

Agent, she notes. It shouldn't sting, it's her title after all and they've known one another all of three days since she's been on the job, and time it took to prepare them to leave…..but it does. It comes across deliberately cold and vengefully distant.

"It sounds quite, cross," he continues.

"Yeah well. Food hasn't been my top priority, your life is" she snaps, ready to match him, barb for barb. When she is answered by silence she chances to look at him briefly, and sees his eyes narrowed in concern. His mouth creased into a frown.

"Apologies." he murmurs. "I have neglected to factor in that just as you have been an intrusion in my life, I have been similar to yours" his eyes downcast he inhales deeply. "What I meant to suggest, Agent---"

"Abbie---" she corrects. "Abbie."

"Miss Mills," he counters. She sighs. "I mean if it would not be troublesome to you, that we could stop for a bit? Visit the facilities, eat?"

Abbie shakes her head tightly. "I don't wanna be caught out here when its dark Crane." but then another rumble grabs her attention and she smirks, raising a brow. "Although it sounds like you have a 'cross beast' to feed yourself." she watches his mouth quirk and his face flush as he rumbles a laughing reply.

"In the interest of preserving my life, Miss Mills, would it not be prudent to ensure I do not die of starvation?"

"I don't like the way you use my words to trap me," she grouches, but her tone is amused as she navigates a turn off just in time.

*********************************

A quiet, obscure place. Quiet diners and a juke box---a juke box, that's how back of the wood it is out here---piping softly in a back corner. A bartender that looks up and acknowledged them with a nod and nothing more. She watched him go as he made his way to the washroom and she took a seat. Eyes peeled, eyes open, and while he's not there, allows herself to feel just a little bit weary. To let her brain wrack itself remembering Orion's cryptic words. She wasn't going to play his game. She wouldn't. If she'd been able to get a bead on him at the time, she'd have taken him out for the suggestion.

He'd told her he wasn't hired to kill Crane.

But then how could he turn around and threaten the mans life in order to make a deal?

Because he knows you value your job and reputation, she chides herself. He knows you don't quit…..he knows you're still smarting from when he double crossed you and----Suddenly Crane's seated opposite, his head cocked thoughtfully to the side. She casts her gaze elsewhere, waving her hand a waitress who saunters over, leisurely if not bored. She's probably nearing the end of her shift. "What can I get you?"

"What you got round here that's good? we've been on the road for----" Abbie cuts off and the dim bar illuminates with a flash of lightening, the lights flicker a beat and then there is dense unrelenting pounding of rain outside. Boom crash in the air as thunder wracks the sky. It disorients her a moment. Storms always make her edgy---nothing good has ever come of them. "----Whatever you recommend" she hurries along. "Two coffees, unless?" she looks to Crane who waves a hand.

"No coffee is fine."

"Two coffees," she confirms, flinching when the thunder crashes again and cursing herself forbeing jittery. The waitress bobs her head and moves off, promising to be back soon with their order. She knots her hands on the table, hands clasped too tightly, her foot jack rabbeting beneath the table as the torrent continues. She glances over her shoulder out the window and swears to see the thick sheet of rain. She can't see in that she knows. She wouldn't risk it. Unfamiliar roads and bad weather and not to mention she's so damn---warm. Her hands still and her foot begins to slow, slow, slow down until it plants itself steady on the tile beside the other one. Her eyes zero in on the long tapered fingers, the immense palm, that is covering both of her clasped hands. Has stilled them in their shaking. She takes a deep breath before letting her gaze slide up to meet his.

She doesn't like the look in his eyes. Prodding curiosity bundled up with concern. Intrusive is what she used to call that look. Predatory, puzzling, when she first let Orion get too close.

But on Crane, on this man she's meant to protect? It smacks of something that feels vaguely complicated. Like a reversal. Clients don't care about her, that's her job. She's the mettle the might the brawn and strategist. Leave their safety and lives in her hands, at the possible cost of her own. That's her calling, that's her. Being on the other end that seems distantly interested in her wellbeing? Foreign concept. Not one that's ever been entertained and not one she's ever welcomed or encouraged.

Why hasn't she moved her hands yet?

"Here you go.!" the waitress chimes, returning with her arms carefully balanced with sandwiches and mugs. "Whoo, look at it rain. That's not gonna let up soon"

"No?" Abbie asks, dismayed that her voices comes out in a croak.

The waitress---Ally--shakes her head. "Not when it's like this. Hope you guys got some place to stay?"

It hadn't been part of the plan to make any stops, but she'd mapped out a few, in case. Though she's irked she's got to use them. She should never have listened to Crane.

But isn't it better here than trapped on the road with that mess?

"Motel near by here, right?" Abbie continues, taking a drink of the coffee that's too hot and grits her teeth as it goes down, fiery and strong down her throat, kicking up a little flare in her chest as it goes.

"Just down the street." Ally says helpfully. "Not even fifteen minutes."

"Thanks."

Crane bites into his sandwich, chewing with cogs turning as he looks around the establishment.

"Penny for your thoughts." She interrupts.

"When you write everything has a poetry to it." he says, munching and looking around. "Suddenly there's, possibility and mystery in everything. There's dream and reality. You find yourself trying to find ways to recreate it, bend it, give it new life through craft."

Abbie raises a brow and gives a small, terribly small teasing smirk. "All that in here?"

He meets her eye and flushes as he refocuses on the food and drink. "Fanciful mind, I'm afraid. Occupational hazard."

Abbie snorts, rubbing absently at the scar above her breast. "Yeah I know about those." He gives her a look that tells her he wants to ask another question but she takes a sudden deep interest in the food instead. Willing the rain to stop.

Her prayer is answered by another vengeful crash of thunder, more lightening, and then the diner goes black. A round of surprised gasps and cries sweep through the bar but Abbie's senses go on alert. Impossible, she thinks. It's impossible an assassin could have followed them way out here, isn't it? It couldn't be they've trailed them, and now using the storm as a diversion cut the lights to out Crane? Her instincts kick in before her logic can. She throws herself to the grown, wrenching Cranes arm as she forces him to follow her. She claps a hand over his mouth before he can make any protests. They'll know his voice if they're here, after him. It's too dark, and the other patrons grumble, some of them warily trying to amble towards the door. The manager bellows curses and apologies and then her heartbeat begins to slow. She realizes she's over reacted. A power outage. Nothing more. But it doesn't change the fact that it's pitch black, and she's got herself too close to Crane in her protective overdrive. And it doesn't help that for whatever inane reason he's bunched his hands in her coat, making it almost impossible for her to move. "Crane," she whispers. She can't even see his eyes, but she feels his head turn a little toward her voice. "Crane I over reacted, alls clear, you can let me go" She slowly drops her hand. "Crane, did you hear me?"

"Are you certain?" he manages. "You seemed quite certain---"

"Storms make me jumpy," she hisses. "Sorry. Now come on." and pushes against his chest forcefully, making his hands release. Dim lights flicker back to life, a generator kicking in a little late and Abbie slowly rises to her feet, still scanning the room, just in case, but most of the other people were unforgiving and made themselves scarce. Another couple slides back in their seat, and some romantic old man shuffles back toward the jukebox, giving it a sharp smack as causing it to sputter back to life. He sidles back over to his partner waiting in the booth, grimacing as he holds his back.

"Sorry for the inconvenience folks" the manager calls. Ally scuttles over, a pained expression on her face. "You alright? I saw you take that fall."

"We're fine," Abbie answers. Ally bobs her head, relieved and goes back where she came from. Abbie's head pounds. She feels unhinged. By what, some rain?

No, not just the rain, her subconscious chides her. It's what's happened in the rain. What you've lost in the rain. The strains from the juke wheedle over to them and the old man, good humoured though aching is trying to get his partner to dance. "Old fool" they mutter fondly as they coyly refuse.

"Sentimental old fool." he agrees, unrelenting until they place their hands in his and he pulls them to their feet.

Abbie doesn't mean to be, but she's charmed by them. She's just about to, of all things, agree with Crane on is poetic ramblings of atmosphere earlier when she notices his storm cloud expression. They're not about to be on even footing, she guesses. It's his turn tobe irritable for no clear reason.

Abbie is a detailed woman. Down to the small fine print. But she's never really been personal. Even the wildness of that near fatal relationship with Orion Angel, it was never about the core of her, or him. They knew each other, sure did. Terribly well. Trusted the other. But there had still always been things they couldn't quite figure out. A transparency that she had thought she was blocking out with her carefully constructed walls. Given his betrayal---it could have just as likely been his own secrecy. But the point is---there's a disquieting clarity to Ichabod Crane.

She won't pretend she understands who wants him dead or how he leads his life. But she can see his glimmers of fear. His tight jaw and the forlorn, regretful look in his eyes as he watches the elderly shuffling couple. She can tell he's remembering something, something that is direly close to home for him. And with that comes an odd surety, that if she were to ask, he might divulge it all to her. Abbie can't quite convince herself that getting into an emotional talk is going to help her keep him safe. But it might.

It _might_. Swallowing her cooled coffee she takes a deep breath, nods over to the old man crooning in his loves ear.

"So who was she"

Crane glances up at her.

"Or he," she adds, suddenly aware she hadn't bothered to consider the possibility that he might---"

"She….." he cuts in. "She……I….I had no business…..I…." his face flushes scarlet and he looks away. "Please," he whispers.

"Well it's either you answer or you show me your moves out there," she drawls lazily, meaning to joke, to lighten the mood. She's unpleasantly surprised when Crane rises from the table and comes around to offer his hand. It is only her training and staunch demeanour that doesn't let her sputter. "I was kidding," she says.

But Crane seems woefully determined. "If I'm going to join that charming pair, you are coming with me,"

"Crane---" but his hands grasp hers and haul her up and out of the seat, and pulling her abruptly close, a hand to his shoulder and the other he cradles close to his chest.

Abbie is stunned.

"Point made Crane" she grouses. "I won't ask again I only thought----"

"I beg you please." he whispers again. "It pains, and shames me, what I have done. What I hide. It was only a jest, I know, but distract me this moment….and I will explain later."

She's still stunned.

"Miss Mills?"

She gives a tight, awkward nod and follows his shuffling footsteps. The rain keeps pouring outside and the music croons on and Crane is a warm body guiding her in tight little two step circles around a few squares of tile. She wants to wriggle out of this strange half there half not place they've settled into. The weird, sudden onset of confidentiality, and just as she makes to pull away doesn't the storm outside howl and make her shudder.

He feels it. The tense of her muscles and the shiver that ripples through her soon after and his grip tightens. "Are you afraid of storms, Miss Mills?" he asks, inclining his head, his breath warm on her ear. She turns slightly to meet his eye, and sees only frank concern. Well it's to be expected, she has been acting damn nervy since the storm began.

"Bad memories." is all she says instead. She can convince herself that learning details about Crane might help her track down a potential killer and keep him safe. She cannot rationalize a reason why she should intimate details to Crane on her own life. She expects him to pry, to follow up with 'You can tell me' or 'whenever you want to talk' but he bites his lips together, gives a small, gentle squeeze of her hand and nods. The silence floats up between them as they dance, turning and swaying slow like molasses. She watches a clock pass by on the wall thrice before she properly notes the time. "We should get going, Crane."

His whole body moves and fills and presses against her as he inhales deeply and then releases the breath in a sigh. "You're right." He concedes. "I cannot dance away danger."

She smiles sadly at him. "No. No you can't."

*****************************

He drove. He offered, she agreed, no complaints. An unspoken understanding that with the weather how it was, and considering it's a short distance and yes, damnit, she is, tired, he'll drive to the motel.

They actually get a room with two beds. They pull out their bags and take turns in the bathroom getting changed. She's under the covers and her eyes drifting closed before he even emerges. His face softened at the sight of her. This woman whose life he's uprooted---well Abe uprooted---because of him.

Never mind if its her job, he's seen her oscillate from one extreme of moods to the other in record time. When he met her, he thought her impeccably stern though fresh faced---as if she took all the measures and stress in stride. But now he can see that she's weary. And there's something about her almost bossy surety---that she knows best---seems…fractured. The rain eases up as he moves to his bed on the opposite side of the room. "I'm sorry, Abbie." he murmurs, lifting the covers he turns away, and goes to sleep.

*****************************

Dawn shyly peaks through grey clouds still rolling across the sky. Abbie groans, stiff and is answered by equally disgruntled sounds from Crane. She glances over at him and surprises herself with a snicker. He blinks blearily at her. "What," he starts to swing his feet out of the bed and ambling into the bathroom to glimpse the mirror "What's so---oh. Miss Mills I know you must be in need of amusement in your line of work but I hardly find my bed head, that funny" he chastises mildly, secretly a little pleased that it is giving her reason to laugh. Even if it is more chuckling than necessary.

Abbie snorts. "Walking around with your starched hide 24/7 seeing you dishevelled is a treat"

He quirks a brow at her. "A treat, you say?" his voice teasing. Abbie is too busy rummaging around in her bag for change of clothes to notice him sidling closer across the room. Ignoring the change in his tone.

"Like finding money in your coat pocket," she continues, still amused. "Like," Desired items in hand Abbie stands and smacks right into him, standing far too close. "The hell," she curses as she flounces back onto the bed. "You're too damn tall to not have turning signals or lights when you move around."

"Would that delight you?" he queriers, eyes glittering sparkling blue. Don't notice that, Abbie scolds. That's not pertinent information. "Abbie?"

"Are you feeling okay?" she manages, blinking her eyes shut and turning away from him. "You're….you seem out of sorts,"

He pulls a frown. "Only a jest," he says, wounded. "Since we've met I don't think I've seen you laugh or smile like that and I……you should laugh more." he says softly. "Smile, more, Abbie---"

Abbie, she notes with a clench in her chest.

"----When this is over. I'll…..I'll have Abe arrange you a holiday. On my dime. I think----"

Abbie shakes her head, rises to stand again. "Frank would never----"

"Why would he disagree----"

"---because I'm the best." She says in such a blunt matter of fact way its not even vaguely self indulgent. "He wouldn't take chances like that. I'm the best, so he wants me on hand, ready to go, at all times, and that's where I am, doing my job. Doing the damn thing right. No breaks, no holidays. Keeping everyone-----" she pauses suddenly, choked up before she takes a breath and rallies. "Keeping who I can, safe" she amends. "I don't need taking care of Crane, that's my job---" shaken by the emotional turn she took she moves around him and feels him latch on tight to her wrist.

"Everyone has a breaking point, Abbie," his gaze doesn't meet hers, instead seems to stare into space to her left, off into nothing. "everyone, has a limit, a wall, of some sort. Something they need to do, something they shouldn't, something they might regret….." and she can tell he's not just talking about her anymore. "I wish for you to be spared, that ache." he says. "The burnout, the pain----if you keep pushing yourself----"

"I don't holiday, Mr. Crane." Abbie snaps and she knows, the instant she's said it, in all of its formality and finality, she has shut the door on this inappropriate confrontation. He releases her slowly, shrinking away, as if only now realizing he's overstepped. The stricken look on his face makes her feel wretched inside, and unbelievably she feels the threat of tears----why has one night with this man shaken her up so?

Because he's doing enough tip toeing for the both of you, her mind muses. Trying to protect himself---but really he's trying to reveal himself, you heard him, Mills, there's something he was trying to tell you there, about his regrets----and all at once, he's trying to reach out to you, Abbie Mills. Wants to know what makes you tick.

Yeah well, she thinks, dismissing the thought as she locks the bathroom door behind her and strips off for the shower. Last man who 'thought' he had a clue about how I think…..gave me this. She pauses and looks in the mirror over the sink. At the scar. It had rained the night of Orion's betrayal.

Stormed the night Jenny first left the house for reasons she wouldn't explain.

Father left during a thunder storm.

And it was raining the night she failed for the first time. Before she even knew what she would be when she grew up. It was the night her mother died.

***************************

When she steps out the shower the sun has triumphantly broken through and shines into the room. "Hey." she calls to him, looking distant and faraway where he sits on the edge of the bed. "Sorry I snapped earlier. I…." she shrugs. "Talking about my self has never been in the description."

"I don't know how long this will carry on for. How much further this will interrupt my life or yours, but…..I've been surrounded, cornered, guarded, by you, these past few days. I have had no choice but to give you my complete trust. I hope it is not such an offensive thought to ask that you give me yours-----clients can be friends, can't they?"

Abbie offers a faint smile and he looks up just in time to catch it. To feel his heart give a little flutter at that brief glimpse of soft openness on her face.

"No promises." she replies. "But I guess we can try."

When he smiles back, Abbie gets the disconcerting feeling it won't be hard to trust him entirely---and thats a hazard she's not sure she can afford.

 


	12. Chapter 12

High profile jewellery designer, Lori Mills. Her line, beautiful, timeless, ranging from decadent to elegantly simple ' _Lorelei'_ blazed in curling golden cursive over the store front.Self made out of the ruin of her husband walking out on her. She'd been well on her way before he walked---turning up to her first show case when he figured she was being consumed by a life he couldn't handle. Wouldn't fit into. Most people would have tried to adapt, but not her husband. Her success had threatened him.

Glittering, shimmering display cases. Celebrities and partnerships and glitz.

And a robbery, a stormy night when Abbie was watching the doors while she closed up shop.

The alarm triggered.

She was young, she was green.

He was fast, the bullet faster.

Lori Mills, the fastest of them all, when she threw herself before her daughter, the bullet ripping through her. Her mothers vitality shredded into a bloody spray.

She'd screamed. She'd let loose a horrible screeching yell, the alarm was already going off, the thief grabbing haphazardly as he turned tail and ran.

Two cases smashed. Shattered glass on the floor. Thousands in merchandise stolen. What remained, sold off to other jewellers. Including twin emerald pendants that she'd crafted for her daughters. 

Yet still none as precious, none that couldmeasure up to the cost of the life that was lost.

A mother protecting her daughter to the bitter end.

Abbie'd never forgiven herself for letting herself be saved rather than saving her mother.

So this position had made sense. Complete sense. She liked to think for every life she preserved she was making it worth her mothers while.

Likedto think she had no right to security and safety when it had cost her mother to have it. So she likes the risk. Needs it. Honours it.

* * *

 

They were back on the road in morning and making record time in a far less hostile state of quiet. She let him tune the radio, and even let herself smile a little bit when he hummed along. To be honest, she spent half of the trip waiting for him to divulge the secret he'd promised, but since his plea for 'friendship' she wagered he might hold out on it until she conceded to 'share' with him in turn.

Well, she doesn't seea reason why that should happen any time soon.

"Another hour should do it." she said.

"Oh thank heavens. My limbs have all fallen asleep."

She snorted a laugh. "Yeah, I'd believe that. here." and she pulled off gladly into the truck stop. "Go on, Stretch"

He'd made a point of looking over his shoulder. "To whom do you refer?"

"You, Stretch, like two people grabbed you at either end and just decided to pull."

He sniffed in mock indignation as he got out of the car, shaking out his shoulders and stretching his arms over head. "And you, Miss Mills? I take it someone just took you between their hands and decided to squish you down to the adorable size you are?"

"Squish!"

His mouth tugs impishly but he refuses to respond.

Abbie shakes her head as she slams the car door and eyes the gas station. "Want anything?"

"No thank you, Miss Mills."

"Well I'm going to use the ladies then. And don't you ever think of calling me 'adorable' again. I'm toting a gun."

"Agent Adorable then," he mutters to himself with a small smile once she's out of ear shot.

"I heard that!"

And he smiles even wider.

* * *

 

"Finally." Abbie had sighed with relief when they arrived at the property. She took in a deep breath of the fresh air, peered out towards the lake and felt herself direly tempted to go for a swim. She didn't pack a swimsuit, however, hadn't been expecting leisure to play even the smallest role in this assignment, but its been full of surprises. Such as discovering Crane had a disconcertingly deep rumble of a voice that turned every song on the radio when it started chipping in again into some sort of ancient folk lore shanty. She'd never heard Rascal Flatts 'What Hurts the Most' bellowed in such a way.

But he'd been in a good mood, best she's seen him in since they met, since leaving the motel. Maybe it's the distance from perceived danger. The bright sun, the clear lake, the green forest pines around. But she feels it too. Like she might pack away the burden on her shoulders for a short while.

"I haven't been here in sometime." Crane comments absently, coming up beside her to gaze out on the water. "Abraham sequestered me here back when I was working on the sequel and I'd had writers block. Him, the wife and I. He had to go back into town though and that….." he trailed off there, realizing he'd begun to meander down a road he didn't wish to breech yet. Abbie had glanced at him, curious and assessing, which he was beginning to think was her default expression before she turned to get their bags from the trunk.

"I've got it, I've got it," He insisted, cutting her off, motioning for her to hand over the key she's gotten from Abe and opening the door.

"Nice place," she observes. Big for a vacation spot. But then this isa literary agent making bank off the imagination of others. Sharing their talents with the nation and over. Crane drops their bags unceremoniously at the door and then turns on her with glinting eyes. She gets the distinct impression that Crane is glad for have her on unfamiliar territory for once. Some place that she doesn't yet know.

"I'll give you a tour," he starts but Abbie raises a hand and cuts him off.

"Gotta do my perimeter check first. You stay here." she instructs. He makes to object but thinks better of it, letting his mouth snap shut. Abbie smiles her approval. Look at you, letting me do my job and everything," she snarks as she goes back out the door, hand hovering ever so slightly on her gun. She decides she doesn't love it anymore than she did the cabin he'd called home back in Sleepy Hollow, but at the least, it's got better doors and windows. Security system where Cranes home had not. And she supposes it being a tourist location, they should blend in. "At ease," she says, announcing herself as she waltzes back in, amused that Crane, had indeed, obeyed an order and had remained in the exact spot she'd left.

"Abe said there's a guest room down here on the main floor. I'll take that. You can go settle in, we'll need to head back out for groceries though. Unless you want more fast food."

"I prefer not," Crane quips, hefting his bags. "I'm in need of a home cooked meal. I do hope you're hungry."

"Oh?" she raises a brow.

Crane givessmall, smug smile. "I'm told I'm quite the cook."

"I've heard similar." she counters, challenging.

He arches abrow in turn. "If I didn't know better I'd say you were trying to insinuate you are a better cook than I, _Agent_ ,"

"I don't deal in falsehoods," Abbie fires back with a grin.

"Miss Mills," he sniffs. "Are you, challenging me?"

"I don't see a challenge, Crane. Hands down I could make anything you prepare, better."

"Oh." he chortles, eyes glittering as they lock with hers, also dancing with a playful light. Vaguely, Abbie knows this is friendlier than she usually likes to be with clients. Chummy almost. But how do you not want to go head to head with someone sporting such a smarmy grin? "Oh. Believe me when I say," he continues. "It is _on_ ,"

* * *

 

The timer begins counting down just as Crane beats Abbie to the garnish table.

Frank would not be impressed with her right now.

They'd gone to the grocery down the way, returned home, and then had set up prep stations, a timed clock, and devised a three course meal layout for them to each prepare, while sharing the same kitchen. He swiped the knife when she needed it. She hip checked him out of the way of the stove. At one point he'd held a lemon out of her reach and Abbie had spent a maddening, flustered, laughing two minutes trying to snatch it away from him, succeeding when she leaped and landed on his foot.

But now he was hogging the all of the good stuff. The parsley, the sauce, making his entree look just so, shifting around and around the table taking up all of the space so she couldn't set her plate down.

"Crane!" she yells. "You're not playing fair!"

"I---you imp!" he yelps, in the midst of his distraction Abbie absconds with his starter and holds it menacingly above the trash. "Miss Mills, let us not be---"

"Let me at that table or else,"

"You're being---Ah! I give, uncle, I concede defeat" he begs. She sets it back down and bumps him forcefully out the way, making his hand waver and smear his plate as she adds her finishing touches and the timer blares they're out of time.

* * *

 

They switch sides of the table and playfully nit pick the others dishes, trying to and failing to muffle their groanof satisfaction, small flitting shared smiles and twinkling eyes as Crane sips from a glass of wine, but Abbie sticks to water. As much unprecedented, uncalled for, fun that she's had to day with him, she's still on the clock. And that means no drinking on the job. At the end of the meal they begrudgingly admit they mightbe tied. "Perhaps tomorrow we should cook together instead of against?" he suggests. Abbie glances at him, amused. She deposits her dishes in the sink and starts to scrub while he dries.

"Maybe." she concedes. "Maybe"

* * *

 

They retire early but Abbie is restless. The night sky is too clear and the moon's penetrating glow bathes the whole room, illuminating her face, even through the curtains she'd drawn. The stars twinkle beyond, bright in all their stubbornness to be seen. And her mind isn't at ease either. With the house so quiet she has time to backtrack and trace and worry. Orion had mentioned her sister, Jenny.

Jenny, who when Abbie decided to go right, had veered sharply left. They'd been of a mind once. Both in enforcement, every intention of being a team in the field. Protect and serve.

But their mother's death had rattled her. She suspects even know, that Jenny might blame Abbie for not saving their mother that night. The rift began then. It was long coming, years of side by side before her moonlighting started to show. Abbie had tried to dig Jenny out of it, convince her to stop playing crooked cop, detective, sergeant, what have you. She got good at black mail on both sides of the law. She moved up ranks she shouldn't have playing her games, greasing wheels, passing deals under tables and smuggling and helping out in tricky ransom situations. Hand offs in which the site got decimated by explosions or gun fire and the money would vanish from scene.

Jenny startmissing training. Solving too many cases too quick. First night she stepped out because she had a 'lead' on a case, it had been storming then too.

Jenny was stripped of all badges and honours she'd managed to scam, December of 07. She served time. They were in touch still when she got out in 09, Abbie begging her to turn herself around. "And what." her sister had demanded. "Become what?"

"I don't have that answer for you Jenny but you're resourceful, you can do something else now's your chance to get out of black market and espionage---"

"What, start over, rehabilitate in the force?" she'd mocked. "Go into retail, right? trust some fool to be quicker than a robber out to kill?" she'd spat and realized only after how deeply she'd cut her sister. She wouldn't apologize though, instead had gritted her teeth and walked out the house.

She got a call in 2010, when she was in hospital recovering from Orion's betrayal. But it's since been static since. She's run into and been in contact with Orion over the years more than Jenny. Although she hears about her.

Sometimes Abbie wants is Jenny. Not to apologize for losing their mother. She did that ten fold when it was fresh, for being stunned and slow. Just to have her sister back. Have someone in her corner.

The list of people Abbie could trust with her life has grown, dismally short, over the years. Only name on that ledger now is hers.

In the still of the night, anxiety making her sweat, she finds herself contemplating the lake outside, in all its cool comforting stillness.

* * *

 

The top floor bedrooms sport a wrap around balcony. Even after the events of the day knowing he should be weary, Crane is wired. He's been reading out on the cold balcony, even letting the chill creep wind ruffle his short hair. He'd had a cut before they arrived. His notebook and pen rest on the table beside him and the glass of brandy he'd poured before heading upstairs, but when he'd put the pen to paper earlier to jot down thoughts, his mind kept circling around to the dire circumstances his imagination has landed him in. Although the day he's spent with Miss Mills, the playfully rivalry they'd engaged in while cooking, even some of the banter on the ride up---while he won't pretend to know anything more of her, secretive and professional as she is---it was, nice. So he abandoned writing to read one of the books he'd procured from Mr. Parish's shop the day he chased them out of it, reading slowly and at leisure, rather pleased, frankly, when he feels his eyelids begin to droop when he hears a door creak. He squints, panic flitting through his being. An intruder? He sets the book down and leans over the railing but what he sees is Agent Mills.

From this view, from this vantage point, she's…..she's. "Abbie," he breathes, captured. He watches her meandering towards the dock and for a horrifying moment thinks she's sleep walking but he watches her movements as she goes. Feet gliding along softly and her fingers working deftly as she unbuttons her night shirt, pauses at the end to step out of the bottoms. Moonlight bathes her skin as she ties up her sleek tresses and then, she turns around, going to the beginning of the dock. He holds his breath as she takes it at a run, in her underwear and nothing more, leaping into the water. A spray goes up where she disappears into the depths and then she breaks the surface with a yell and then begins to laugh, bright and clear and free. He watches her hair begin to shrink and change into waves and curls. He tries not to let his gaze linger over the smooth lines of her bare shoulders, where the water droplets cling to her skin like small stars, glittering in the night. All the worse when she turns in the water and he can see so clearly her curves as she begins to walk towards the shore. Hips, breast, thighs, glistening in the night air as she retrieves her discarded garments and pads back into the house.

He feels hot, feverish. He wants to forget that he saw her in such a vulnerable, bare moment. He wants to sear it in his mind----which he does. He cannot help it. He wants to run down stairs and tell her he saw her out there in the water, and that she was beautiful and breathtaking and that he finds himself thirsty---would he allow her to drink the remaining drops that cling to her skin? And then he feels shame. It's grossly inappropriate, what he feels in that instant, what he suddenly wants. This maddening, greedy hunger. _She's here to keep you alive and nothing more_ , he reasons, reigning in his mind that has so swiftly gone too far. He can't sleep after that display. He goes inside and steps into the shower, full clothed, and lets the cold water run.

And run.

And run.

* * *

 

The following day passes, quietly. They cook together, a little more somber than the night before, namely because Crane feels particularly careful around her after what he saw last night. He berates with himself the whole evening whether or not to tell her he saw her bathing in the lake, where in the day time children joyfully cannonball, that he saw her like some unearthly vision disrobe and submerge herself, and he'd watched her, rapt. He wants to apologize. But there is never a time to approach it, and then night falls and he's tinkering around inside the room, getting read for bed when he hears the door downstairs, again.

Do not go. He advises himself, squeezing his eyes shut, but then his feet carry him out on the balcony and there she is again. He catches her just as she reaches the edge. For all of her straight laced seriousness, he should allow her this private indulgence but he cannot look away. He finds himself leaning on the door frame, watching her.

And the next morning she's refreshed and they discuss trivial matters. She lets him prattle vaguely about his ideas for adapting the script to film, she shares small fragments of memories, with much prodding over coffee. She checks in with Abe to see when he'll be arriving, signing dates coming up, if there has been anything strange turning up since they've left. Checks in with her boys, investigating still who set off that bomb near the hotel, trying to track the sniper, keeping tabs on the people she knows so far to not be very fond of Crane. Mr. Parrish is reported to do nothing but be grumpy at his patrons. Luke Morales, equally dull. But Abe does divulge there's been a robbery of Crane's artifact holdings---the cache of literature and art from which he draws inspiration---and now they're trying to track that, too. She doesn't bother him with it, but the loose ends are beginning to nag and at night they unravel her clean and painstakingly organized sanity. The lake is the only thing that calms her, helps her sleep.

So she goes swimming for a third night, thinking nothing of it. It's reckless of her sure, but Crane always goes to bed early, prompt and taciturn that he is.

The third night he meanders downstairs shortly after he hears the door, purely for a glass of water and glances out a window, drinking steadily as he watches her, once again taking to the water. She swims differently every time. The first night, with an exuberant joy, as if relieved to let go in the cold. The second, a gentle paddling descent, introspective in her slow movements. Tonight, fierce and rapid as she swims out further than she has at a punishing pace. He draws nearer to the door, and then out to the shore when the dark spot in the distance vanishes for a time and he worries she's in trouble. He finds himself running out to the dock, kicking off his shoes, and diving head long into the water just as she erupts from it, caught off guard she launches into a surpassingly aggressive offensive, locking an arm around his neck before in all his flailing and burbling she can realize it's merely him.

"Crane?" she pants. He splashes furiously.

"Yes! Dear God!" he rasps when she releases him, massaging his neck as his feet kick in the water.

"what are you doing out here?" She asks, bewildered. Her curls drip like a small rain around her and her chest heaves, seemingly oblivious to her nakedness.

"I saw you disappear out there and I was worried!"

Abbie pauses. "You were watching me?"

"Every night!" he hears himself confess and then pales. Abbie blinks at him, awareness dawning on her and her arms raise to attempt to shield herself from his gaze.

Shamed, Crane hauls off his own soaked shirt and holds it out, draping it over her shoulders. She mutters something that might be a thank you as she slips her arms in the clingy sleeves and begins paddling back. On the shore she hunts for her things, striding quickly away even as he calls out to her. "Miss Mills." he staggers in his soggy clothes, picking up his shoes. "Miss Mills! Abbie!"

"What?" she snaps, whirling on him, holding her things before her. "What is it?"

"I'm sorry." he rambles. "I'm deeply sorry I should have told you sooner but you were so peaceful, and beautiful and so different---"

"Am I supposed to be flattered you've been spying on me?"

"You have every right tobe furious!" he insists. "But please know I meant you no harm and…..I admit, seeing you just the once, was not enough. When I saw you swim out and disappear, however, I was terrified something had happened to you."

She barks a laugh. "You thought you would what, save me?"

"I don't think you'd have ever allowed it, truth be told. But I would have tried." he says firmly, meeting her gaze and holding it. She begins to shiver in the cold night air.

"Let's forget it." she says, turning towards indoors.

"I can't and won't." she hears him call behind her. "You're more than the machine you want me to believe you are. You're more than protect and serve and all of these clean lines. You're more than boundaries and your neatly tightly packaged professionalism, Abbie. And I won't forget that."

At the door she glances back at him, his lean muscled frame and wet hair, blue eyes penetrating in the night as the moon shines down on them, malicious insistent light. And he's looking at her like he's found something singular and precious that he refuses to let stay buried.

Standing there, looking at him, she thinks; I don't want to be buried anymore. Guarded and hidden. But she shakes the thought from her head, swallowing and licking her lips. "Goodnight, Crane."


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> apologies i up and changed my formatting for this story in the middle.
> 
> COMMENTS ARE LOVE :D

The fourth day they spend moving around the other, carefully, distantly. The watery collision of the night prior too fresh and strange in their minds. However Crane expresses a desire to explore the trails on a leisurely walk---what he had hoped would be a plausible, if companionably silent excursion. Instead Abbie had let him lead as he wound trails, walking a measured, guarded distance behind him. Cold, aloof, business like, like the first days. It aches him terribly. He misses the brief camaraderie they shared.

He misses the vague glimpses behind the veil she has so tightly drawn around herself. In the midst of the sudden, strange chaos he's been thrust into, he was relieved to not only have a keeper, but a functional, engaging human being around him. And that would have been enough, if he hadn't been spying on her in the lake. He if didn't keep summoning the image of her, shaken and clad in his wet shirt the night prior before she left him standing outside.

To put it mildly, he finds it unbearable. He tries several times to start conversation but is met with curt short responses and her stubbornly looking off into the distance or just beyond him, all together unwilling to engage. With such a thorough turnaround by the end of the day Crane assumes, that's it. She will be his guard and nothing more from here on out.

* * *

 

The fifth day he wakes early. He is quiet and stealthy in the kitchen, scuttling for toast and coffee and has out his notebook again. Jotting not thoughts for the next instalment in his series, but general ruminations. I'd thought my walls built of sturdy stone yet her balustrade, the barricade around her self is more formidable than I could have ever imagined, he scribbles idly. It's not poetry, it's not an ode. Just a short blustering fragment of a line that surfaces in his mind because he inevitably thinking of Abbie, and the offence he caused her. He made many apologies yesterday, all of which to little or no acknowledgement. He puts down the pen and reaches for the mug when Abbie at last emerges from her room, sauntering into the kitchen.

She's let hair her stay curly over the past two days. She wears it in a casual side braid. Jeans, a white button up shirt. She pauses on the other side of the table, so still and her gaze so penetrating he's forced to look up. "Good morning, Agent" he murmurs, tentative, wary.

She purses her lips watching him, and then without preamble, reaches to begin unbuttoning her shirt. Crane pauses with the coffee in mid air, mouth half open.

Her fingers are so slow and methodical and she stops just before he can see the lace edge of her bra and then pulls aside the collar on the right. He lowers the mug, corners of his mouth turning down. Half light had been cruel to him, to obscure a feature so vital while he'd admired her on those bare nights in the water. Even when he'd been confronted with her in the lake, he hadn't taken stock, of the small, darkened indentation that took residence there, above her right breast.

Slowly, his mug lowers.

"January, 2010" she says coolly, distantly, as if this explanation is something to get through, something she must steel herself for. He quickly lifts a hand.

"You don't have to----"

The look she gives him mutes his protests. She looks down at the scar, biting her lips together. "Hostage situation. Went in to negotiate with my partner, on and off the field."

"Miss Mills,"

"There was a handoff to be made. A ransom, there always is. My, partner," for the first time Abbie chokes and stumbles over the word.

* * *

She's back on that dock again, it's cold. It's raining. The boards are slick. The hostage shakes his head in panic with the gun pressed to his temple and the assailant is grinning from ear to ear, beckoning for the money. Orion approaches, case in hand.

And then it's quick. It's so quick.

The kidnapper goes over, into the turbulent depths, hostage pitched her way and then there he is, grinning about a job well done. When she starts to walk toward the waiting vans and cars he doesn't follow. "Orion" she'd said. "Come on,"

"I'm going to…make sure there's no one else around here."

"The perimeter is secure, you don't need to do that."

"Let me do my job, Abigail."

"Orion you need to calm town, bring that case, we're taking it back to their father."

"There could be----"

"If there is, we have backup," She'd snapped and then there it was. The gun. Pointed at her. Her brain had failed to understand. "What are you---"

It burned, hot iron hammered hard into her skin. It had burned, the hostage had screamed at the top of their lungs. When she'd turned her head, the world going swiftly dark around her, she had seen their concerned face, streaked with tears. Their rescuer, shot. Dying. Openly double crossed. Betrayed.

* * *

 

"He took the money, nearly took my life. Left me this as a momento" she finishes solemnly. "That's what happened the last time I blurred the lines between my personal and professional life."

Crane's heart is thumping so furiously he fears it might leap through his chest. His mouth is dry and he feels inexplicably wounded, gutted by the image of her there, steadfast, stalwart, true, duty bound to a fault, to be rewarded with such a breech of trust. To be scarred by it.

"Miss Mills," he rasps, pushing back from the table to stand but she steps back and around to the other side.

"The night my mother died," she continues, watching him carefully. "I was there. In the jewellery shop when it was robbed. And I was too slow. Too damn **_slow!_** " she snaps, and then remembering herself, reigns herself back in, lowers her tone, dashes away tears brimming in her eyes but that cling to her lower lashes. "Too damn slow and…..stupid. Cowardly? She died, _saving **me**_ , Crane." her voice breaks and she turns away from him. "She threw herself in front of me, she caught that bullet. She died for me. She put her life on the line, for _me_. She was the bodyguard when I…..I should have protected her."

"Miss Mills," seems all he can say, trying to reach her through the fog of regret and hurt that she seems determined to lose herself in.

"So this is what I am. I am this job. I am duty and saving and protecting to make her death worth while. Like she left me alive to do something worthy. To make it up to her. This is my scar. My badge. My reminder that I can't let my guard down. When you get caught off guard, people die. _Mothers_ , die. And you come pretty damn close to the grave yourself." She goes still and looks across the table at him defiantly as he cautiously approaches her.

His eyes are filled with an emotion she can't stand.

"Don't feel sorry for me." She says quietly, a stern command. She shakes her head tightly. "I just wanted you to understand."

He pauses, breathing deep, waiting.

Abbie lifts her head. "You said the other night that I'm more than all of this. More than rules and regulations and living at risk. More than keeping everything orderly and contained but I _am_ this. It's in me. don't you get it? I am living breathing, walking in it, everyday. All that to say, there is no more to me, than this, Ichabodillustrious new york times bestseller, historian, scholar, philanthropist, eccentric, Crane. This is it. All I am. Agent Grace Abigail Mills. Nothing more nothing less. Remember that."

She holds his gaze for moment, and then with a curt nod, turns and walks away.

When she's gone, he trembles for the piteous secret he keeps, that he guards with such care, paling in comparison to that cavernous hurt she just revealed to him. The strength that she puts out which makes it sting all the more. He hates himself for what he hides and hates her for being so strong.

He hates her determination to stand so tall, to be so sturdy. For making herself such a fortress, a fine tuned machine. He hates her for holding herself so tightly together even cut up inside the way she is.

Crane direly wishes for her to fall apart. Not to pick up her pieces, no. He just wants her to know that if she's shattered, he wouldn't be in any hurry to discard the broken thing she is. He wouldn't cite it a weakness.

He wishes he could tell her that her fragments and jagged shards are a strength, a weapon in themselves. Her, inside, can cut just as sharp as any knife, no matter how many pieces she may be.

He sits down at the table, shaken, face wet. Shuddering in aftershocks of her unearthed pain.

* * *

 

"Yeah Hawley, relics and parchment, all the junk you like you nut."

"A collector like myself appreciates your efforts, Mills. Where'd you find them?"

"Oh robbed a renown authors cache of goods."

Hawley chuckles robustly on the other end, oblivious. He's always been such, makes him a pleasant man to work for. Sure, sometimes Jenny does go adventuring for the wayward things he fancies. But sometimes she just robs. Plain and simple. It's quick cash for her.

"Well when can you get them to me?"

"Eh. You know your stuffs in good hands with me Hawl, I got you."

"I think you're getting a bonus for this one Mills."

Jenny shrugs, kicking back in the luxury suite at the hotel. "Just don't spread my name around Hawl. Them's the rules."

"And lose my own personal treasure hunter to some other wildly covetous hollywood star? No chance in hell."

* * *

 

The office has been more quiet than she has ever known since starting here. Of all things she finds herself missing Abe. All her ducks are lined up neat. Authors signed, latest manuscripts read, tours booked, there's nearly nothing for her to do except tidy her desk, and immaculate as Cynthia has always been, that's a quickly done task. At the end of the night when she heads home she has a light dinner, changes for bed, gaze lingering on the dresser where she dropped the emerald necklace she wears. She took it off the day Katrina came to visit and hasn't put it back on since, feeling strange about owning an identical pendant to the woman. She'd taken a certain pride in the gift from Frank at the time. It was a beautiful rare piece, one that had been recovered nearly a decade ago from Lorelei after the robbery that took the designers life and dismantled her legacy. All of those pieces had gone at high value to other upscale jewellers. She'd been in a state of awe when Frank had presented it to her. A sign they were on the mend, but that dream has gone wayside. And, in light of the fact that Abe had given Katrina one similar, well perhaps it's silly, but Cynthia has taken it into her head that maybe there's some sort of bad energy surrounding the necklace.

Maybe it's nothing to do with being beautiful and rare.

And everything to do with beautiful, empty things.

Gifts, jewels, are only worth as much as the love in which they were crafted and given. The receiver who cherishes and is grateful for them.

Without that…..glorified minerals.

And they don't bring love back into distant strained marriages.

And they don't keep the love between sisters.

And they don't even keep memories alive.

If who they're meant for, is never who wore them.

* * *

 

Abbie stays away from him, rest of the day. He cooks alone and leaves her a plate, politely knocking on her door. He sits at the table and eats, eyes darting down the hall, hoping she'll emerge but she doesn't. When he's finished he goes upstairs, he draws the curtains shut, hiding the balcony and the lake beyond from view and changes swiftly for bed and stubbornly tucks himself in.

When he hears the door downstairs, he doesn't move.

* * *

 

She sits at the edge of the dock, feet dangling in the water. She's not up to swimming tonight. Swimming is for letting off steam, releasing pent up energy and quieting her mind so she can succumb to sleep. But Abbie unloaded a lot today. A lot of burden she hadn't quite allowed herself to admit, not out loud, and certainly not for any ears to hear. Her mind is so silent crickets could chirp in there. She kicks her feet a little, breathing deep. She wasn't supposed to do that, she should have thought better, of doing that, but he pushes her buttons in ways she can't understand. His words get under her skin in ways that tickle and ways that writhe. His voice twining around and around her mind, relentlessly, persistently looking for a way in. Abbie just wanted a way to shut him out. Lock the door, double bolt it, but somehow, telling him, everything. It had the opposite effect. She feels less anchored and like she's walled him out and more like she's opened a gate.

Crossed a line.

The same kind of foolish line she swore to herself she wouldn't again.

But then why are you here, she asks herself, glancing up over her shoulder at the shuttered balcony and dark window, where she knows now must be where Crane had been watching her. Then why are you here, waiting for those curtains to part.

* * *

 

When he wakes up, forgetting the purpose of closing them night before and draws the curtains and steps out into the sun, he sees her there. Sitting on the dock. Her hair is up. She's wearing her jacket and jeans. She has a mug of coffee in her hands and one cooling beside her. He tries to assure himself she merely needs a lot of caffeine, not that one of the mugs are for him. But he showers quickly, changes, bounds down the steps and strides quickly outside, checking himself to a tempered stroll as he draws closer.

She doesn't look when she hears him. She keeps her eyes on the lake, but smirks to herself as she lifts the cup to her lips.

"Miss Mills?" he calls softly.

"Morning, Crane."

Soft foot falls until he sits down beside her. Abbie nods toward the cup.

"For you."

"Thank you." he whispers, stiffly reaching for the cup.

"You can breathe, you know."

"Pardon?"

"You'vebeen holding your breath since you came out here." she sighs, finally looking at him. "Listen, about yesterday. That, that wasn't profess---"

He splashes coffee on him self in his hurry to put a finger to her lips, shushing her. Her glittering brown eyes blink alertly at him.

"If you say 'professional' Agent Adorable Abigail Mills, I swear" he huffs.

She scowls. "What did I say about mmph--" He claps his entire hand over her mouth this time and she glares.

"Wounded. Surviving. Burning like the brightest, smallest eternal flame. Yes, it is you. All of it. But so are the undone parts, Abbie. The tangles and snarls, they're you as well, and I wish you would let yourself be a human around me. Let me be a human around you." He lowers his hand.

Abbie raises a brow at him, curious.

"My, stupid secret." Crane mutters. "I had an affair. With Abraham's wife."

She wishes she could be surprised, but Abbie has seen many many things over the years. She sits patiently.

"She got pregnant." he continues, trying to gauge her reaction. "She didn't, and I, didn't know, which of us, Abraham or I, was the father and she….terminated, herself, when I……I refused to confess my misdeeds to Abraham and announce that she was leaving him for me."

Abbie's eyes narrow. "What do you mean herself….."

"I don't know by what means." Crane answers hurriedly. "Only I suspect whatever she resorted to, has made it difficult for her to get pregnant again since." He shifts and tugs his collar. "Two years, roughly. Skulking in secret. Betraying my friends trust on so many levels. My sense of morality arrived late when I tried to break it off, but then she'd shown me the test. Several. I'd told her it was a ludicrous idea, that we had been wrong from the start but she was so, _passionate_ , and _adamant_ , and I…I just wouldn't do it. I couldn't. She…..aborted it however she managed, and left herself grieving and…..I took a hiatus from writing. I'd told Abraham I was burned out. I don't think he suspected."

Ever the pragmatist. "Are….do you think, that she?"

"Hmm?" Crane asks. "No, I don't believe, to harm me?"

"She sounds like she has cause. Strung her along and then abandoned her."

Crane pales. "Abbie, I----"

"That's what she would have felt. What any woman would, Crane. You don't need me to tell you that you were both wrong."Abbie finishes her coffee and ponders. "That the secret you were getting so touchy about?"

Crane hangs his head. "When I did start to write again," he wrings his hands. "I was still so, beleaguered by what had transpired, a rather ill conceived notion had occurred to me, to confess it, as it were in writing. Divulge and hide the truth at once. Shameful and cowardly, I know." he concludes quickly. "But I…scrapped it. It still occurs to me, I do not have the heart nor spine to tell Abraham how I have hurt him."

"Though somehow telling the world would have been more appropriate?"

"If I'd gone through with it, it would have been the last book I'd written under his guidance, I was prepared to retire entirely from the literary world after. He might have figured it out eventually."

"But then the movie deal came."

"Fame makes such demands, and it's a boon for Abraham."

"You can't keep this," Abbie says seriously. "This idea is insane and keeping it from Abe is too. I wouldn't hope he could forgive you. But for your own sense of worth."

"I know, Abbie. I know."

"This is the same scrap of a confession, plot device," Abbie furrows her brow, "That we found in the library, in your house."

He swallows thickly. "Yes."

"I'm not sure if this person wants to kill you,or blackmail you. They're using an explosive secret against you."

"I don't even know how anyone would know, I'd let so few people read my works in progress except-----"

"Caroline."

"Pardon?"

"You said Caroline read your works."

"You think she……."

"I wouldn't rule it out, Crane."

"But why----"

Abbie rockets to her feet. "Don't know, but I'm going to pass that hunch on to the fellas." she strikes off back into the house and Crane hurries after her, grabbing her elbow as she swings toward the kitchen making her drop the mug in her hand. "Crane!"

"Abbie." he says, grasping her shoulders.

Too close. She thinks. Very much so too close. "All leads aside," he rumbles. "That's not why I told you, any of that."

"Why exactly?"

"What you shared with me, yesterday. Trusted me with, your bravery, all of it----I asked for that from you, to trust me, and you deserved to know this part of me. Your demons are greater and scarier than mine. They have teeth that claw and bite and mark and I dare not think to call this an even exchange. But it's a part of me. Part of the man I am, despicable, I am. All of that to say----I would never judge you, or think you less competent or, in any way lacking for the experiences that have shaped you. Your jagged edges are still beautiful you are still so strong and formidable and---" he's been managing to step closer with every word, pushing her back as he does so until she feels herself hit wall.

Too.

**_Close!_ **

Her mind blares.

"Crane?" she breathes, panic fluttering in her chest. He touches her cheek. "I can't---you can't----this isn't----"

"No." he agrees, lowering his head. "No it's not professional at all."

He kisses her. Gentle, questioning, when he feels her lips move in response he deepens the kiss and winds a hand in her hair, a sort of wild reckless ardour bubbling up within him. It's the hunger that visited him the first night he saw her swimming. It's the smell of her skin and her hair, that first time, when she tackled him to the ground at the hotel, after the sniper scare. It's her smile, so sparingly given that lights up a room. He's losing himself in her, in the light of the secret he just confessed, its poor taste but he can't stop. He's finding her, again and again, as her lips part and her tongue meets his, he's finding her. Every boundary she put up to hide and conceal and compartmentalize he finds her again and again. She pulls him closer and he willingly goes, bodies flush against one another.  See, he thinks as he grips her waist.

You are more.

You are soft.

You are calculating.

You are afraid.

You are breathtaking.

You are strong, _Grace Abigail Mills_ you are always so strong.

You are whole and you are pieces.

I want all of your pieces. I want to cut myself on all of your sharp edges.

You are sweet and you are fire and in this moment I do not care if you consume me and I never write again----

And that was when they'd heard the car pulling up in the driveway. That was when Abbie had broken away from him abruptly, dazed, disheveled, before straightening her clothes, smoothing her hair and striding to answer the door. He'd hung back, leaning on the wall to catch his breath. Then swept up the shattered mug. Changed his sullied shirt. 

And then he'd heard Abbie greeting someone at the door, slipped back perfectly into her calm cool, efficient facade. And he'd heard Abraham's voice. And he'd come out to help bring the bags in and then realized Katrina had come.

Abbie drifted away shortly after, not meeting his eye.

And there was Abe.

And Katrina.

And himself.

And Abbie.

Under,

one,

roof.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and now, back to the plot folks. I hope you have enjoyed this 3 chapter detour into ichabbie lane.


	14. Chapter 14

The water is cool as Abbie splashes her face in the sink. She left everyone at the doorway and retreated in here, locked the bathroom door while she tried to piece together the speech she was going to give Frank on the phone. The one stating she had to be removed from this assignment. It was the only responsible, and plausible next step her mind could go to. Her position, their client relationship, has been compromised, and she should step away from it, all together before her judgement, and Crane's life, become endangered. Put aside the fact that mere minutes ago Crane had revealed to her he'd had an affair with his agent's wife. Both of whom had finally arrived at the cottage---she would be demanding an explanation from Abe for that. His client is transported to a safe location out of town and it takes him a whole week to arrive and be there for him.

She's irrationally mad with him about that. She finds herself getting hung up on the fact as she splashes her face yet again and then dabs it off with a towel, meticulously checking her hair. If Abe had left when they did, there would have been no opportunity for---well whatever the hell _that_ had been just now out in the hall. "No matter Mills" she quips, grasping the door handle. "A mishap. That's all" her phone begins to buzz in her pocket and she frowns as she walks down the hall, withdrawing it to answer.

"Mills?"

"Corbin?"

"We found something."

Abbie checks around, listening. There's foot steps upstairs, dainty soft ones. Wife, she concludes. In the kitchen, two pairs of heavier ones, some low chuckling. Abe and Crane. "Shoot."

"Mr. Van Brunt told us he'd been informed of a robbery, at Mr. Crane's…..holdings?"

"Yes, yes get on with it."

"While interviewing here, he told us, he'd been tipped off about the burglary. Woman named Caroline?"

Abbie perks up. "Friend of Cranes." she answers, clipped, trying to reign in the suspicions brewing in her brain.

"Yes. That's what she told Abe, but she couldn't be contacted for an interview. We've been trying to find her the whole of last week, Mills. Didn't want to trouble you with it. But from what we can determine, she informed Van Brunt and then bolted."

Abbie's about to reply when those light foot falls start coming down the stairs. She glances up at the red headed woman gazing down at her as she descends, hand trailing along the rail. Abbie nods to her and Katrina gives what would pass as cousin to a smile in return, touching down on the first floor breezes by into the kitchen toward the mens voices.

"Abbie?"

"I'm listening Corbin." she snaps, walking back away from the kitchen toward her room. "How did Caroline know the place had been robbed?"

"Because she was there." he answers. Abbie falters.

"What"

"We went in and did a sweep, found hair samples that proved a DNA match---sample we took from her room at Mr. Parrish's when we went looking for her."

"She reported the robbery because she was guilty." Abbie says slowly, thinking.

"If that's the case, she had an accomplice," Corbin cuts in. "And this is why I called you specifically because results for that match just came through today."

"Joe….."

"We did a second search, more hair, actually. These profiles still come up pretty damn detailed."

"Joe" she commands sharply. "What did it say."

"Jennifer Mills."

In the kitchen, Crane thinks he hears a thud. Like something that's fallen, and ducks out into the hall to find Abbie standing dumbstruck outside her bedroom door. Her phone lies on the floor, a voice chirping alarmingly from it.

"Agent Mills? Mills?"

Perplexed Crane begins to approach her.

 _"Abbie_!" the voice calls again.

"Abbie?" Crane inquires, voice quiet. There's a far away almost skittish look in Abbie's eyes that makes him wary. "Abbie are you alright?"

She blinks and swallows and then gestures to her phone which he swiftly picks up and hands to her. She nods her thanks and puts it back up to her ear.

"Abbie?"

"Here Joe."

"We haven't found her yet. But I thought you deserved to know she, along with Caroline, is a suspect. And we're looking for her."

"Of course." she replies steadily. "You're doing a banged up job there Joe. Thanks for being on this."

His voice sounds relieved as he replies, "Thanks Abbie."

"Don't let Brooks hear you getting informal." she forces a laugh.

"Agent Mills." he corrects himself.

"Agent Corbin." and she hangs up.

When Crane's hand lands on her shoulder she jolts. "Is everything well?"

Abbie pinches the bridge of her nose. Well, calling Frank to request an assignment change won't do. If Jenny's somehow tied up in all of this, Abbie wants, no needs, to be on this case. "Fine, Crane."

"Abbie,"

"Ah." She raises a hand to silence him. "That, earlier, was not a thing. Alright? It didn't happen---"

"Didn't happen!" he barks incredulously and Abbie grabs his collar, yanking him down to eye level.

"No." she confirms through gritted teeth. "It. Did. Not. Happen."

"Which part" he counters,stepping in closer, half backing her into her room as he prys her hand off and wraps his considerably larger hand around her wrist. Abbie is dismayed to find his grip is stronger than she would have guessed."You baring your soul or my baring mine?"

"Soul baring?" Abbie scoffs "Is that what you call your dirty laundry there with the iciest woman I've ever met? Passionate? I'm surprised you didn't get frost bite."

He keeps advancing and lowers his voice "Abigail----"

No.

Her skin crawls. Orion called you that. Made yourname sound like a sinful, private thing and it almost killed you.

"Don't call me Abigail."

"It's your---"

"I said don't _call_ me Abigail"

"Am I, interrupting?" Abe asks as he steps out into the hall. Crane jerks away, wrestling his hands primly behind his back.

"Nothing." Abbie smiles.

Grudging and glaring Crane agrees, "Nothing"

Abe's gaze flickers betweenthe two, mind idly thinking back to Katrina's concerns about Crane having a female bodyguard. That simmering argument hadn't exactly sounded like 'nothing'. "Well." he says. "I was just telling Kat it's been so long since we've all been away, and your first time here with us, Agent Mills."

Abbie nods.

"Remember that steak house out here Ichabod? I know it's a little backward to go away into the wilderness to go someplace fancy, but that's half the charm. We should go there for dinner. What do you think?"

It takes Abbie a moment to realize the invitation is being extended to her. Or otherwise Abe is asking if she thinks its safe.

She doesn't.

But she also doesn't trust being in this cottage tonight either. She needs a distraction, she hates to admit. From the news Joe delivered and this,recent, ill advised development between herself and Crane.

"Sure."

Abe nods, passing his gaze over the two of them again. "Well. Good. It's formal. You can dress if up, if you want. Have an unofficial night off on me" he entreats. "Think of it as a thank you for keeping my money maker here safe and keeping your sanity at the same time."

"Oh just barely." she lets slip and Abe grins.

"I know. Crane's a handful."

Abbie inhales deeply. To call Ichabod Crane a 'handful' is a vast understatement.

* * *

 

Jenny packs her bags, carefully concealing the maps, scrolls, and three sculptures. And the manuscript, of course not yet finished by the looks of it, but nearly. Cleverly hidden by the author himself Ichabod Crane, masquerading it as an ancient tome. But there it had been, in a hollowed out antique looking book cover. Jenny had been secretly amused byhis security measures, but she supposed nothing less could be expected of an imaginative, conspiracy concocting mind. That goes to Orion, as payment in exchange for him telling her where the stash washidden. When she'd asked why he couldn't get it himself, especially given she'd broken him out of the cell---he'd said it's high time one of the Mills were nice to him for a little while---she'd have just lost time arguing with him. So here was his stupid book. Jenny doesn't know who hired Orion to steal it and she doesn't care. Not her business.

Casually she heads toward the front desk checking out of the hotel room she'd bookedunder her alias, Chloe Germain. A picture of her with shoulder length curls, nose piercing and green eyes on the drivers license. She'll torch it once she's out of town. She's played Chloe for a while, going on six months, time to let her die and become someone else.She's got another one backed up ready to go. But she cut her hair off last night anyway, to be a closer match to the picture. Plans on buying a bottle of dye before she leaves, she's never been blond, and she has some grey contacts she wants to try.

Jiggling her keys and whistling her phone rings. She whips it out, glancing at the unknown number. Pursing her lips she considers before answering. "You're on the news, Mills. FBI hunt."

"Look I got your book."

"And I thank you for it. But this is serious, Jennifer. They're saying they found your DNA at the scene of Crane's treasure trove. You know the mans had a bad run lately, attempts on his life. It doesn't look good for you. And you with his manuscript of all things."

Her skin begins to prickle and Jenny glances around the parking lot warily. It's really full for this time of day.

"Orion." she bites out. "Orion what are you trying to say."

"I took the fall for that fiasco in 2010. I owe you one Mills."

"What---".but the line goes dead and Jennyinstead focuses on getting in the car and putting it in drive. He's just messing with you, she concludes. He's just trying to mess with your head Mills--"damn it" when she glances up in her rear view mirror she's being tailed. "Impossible." she mutters. "It's impossible, that **_snake_** " she slams her fist on the wheel, he must have been keeping tabs on her this whole time. Following her in disguise----that old pony trick he always did so well--" _Damn him_ " she glances up again and turns her eyes back on the road after the woman goes up and over the hood. Jenny jolts with the impact, when she looks ahead, checks the mirror again and with her adrenaline pumping fails to properly register the person laying on the street, her eyes focused on the car still coming up behind her.

She floors the gas. 

* * *

 

"Damn it" Joe exclaims as he leaps out of the car and running towards the woman. They'd received an anonymous tip this morning, not long after he'd gotten off the phone with Abbie about a spotting of Jennifer Mills. He was sure that had been here leaving the hotel but she spooked and now this. He lifts the woman's head, blood trickling out the side of her mouth. "Stay with me ma'am. What's your name ma'am?"

Her eyes open for a sliver before drifting back shut and Brooks in the car is dialling for an ambulance. With the woman still in his arms he rifles through her jacket, purse---his hands clasp around an expensive looking emerald necklace--- and keeps hunting for ID.

Cynthia Irving.

* * *

 

When Caroline had come to after 'Chloe Germain' she'd doubted that was her name now in hindsight--- had sacked her out in the park, the logical thing to do had been to report the robbery. She'd called Ichabod's agent Abe, seeing as Ichabod was unreliable when it came to technology. Preferred still working pen to paper for his novels even. Didn't touch a computer until an idea was complete. She was also one of few people who knew Crane liked to hide his works in the place he'd affectionately named his 'archives' and had worried, there was a possibilty it could have been what the thief was after. She'd told Abe she'd seen someone prowling around outside and had tried to intercept them before they'd attacked her and knocked her out.

A lie, yes. She'd admit. But it wouldn't do to go about explaining to Abe why she had actually been in the Archives to begin with, pseudo guarding Crane's things.

So she reported the robbery and took her assailants advice. Went home, left father figure Henry Parrisha note telling him she needed to get out of town, for a while. Try to refocus on writing. Instead of all the costuming dreams he abhorred so much. Henry often stayed at the shop late, unpacking stock and counting the till, she'd be long gone.She packed her bags silently and took the car. Withdrew as much cash as she could from her account, maxing her limit. Drove for hours and hours on end.

Decided that if there was ever a place where she could hide, it would be a tourist spot. Cottage country is busy this time of year. Maybe clear her head for a bit by the lake. Until they found the real crook who had looted her friend. Until that crook forgot about her entirely.

Caroline simply had no idea she'd wound up at the same resort area as Crane and his bodyguard.

Nor that back home, she was still implied in the burglary.

And certainly, she hasn't a clue, that as far as suspects go pertaining to Crane's welfare, she's at the top of Agent Abigail Mills' list.

* * *

 

The day is so much forced normal Abbie wants to scream. They go boating. She stays on the dock. Watching and marvelling at how Abe can keep missing the looks his wife keep passing at Crane. The way Crane holds himself rigidly apart, avoiding her gaze. When they eat lunch Crane's chatter is non existent. Katrina laughs too loudly, too much at what her husband says, trying to make up for the void.

When six o clock rolls around Abbie excuses herself from their drinking and lounging on the deck to check her phone. She needs to keep abreast of what's going on with the search for Jenny and Caroline Parrish but neither Corbin or Brooks have been able to return her calls.Frustrated she flings open the door to her room and tosses the phone on the bed, grumbling to herself about poor communication when her door whispers shut. She's quick now. She's taught herself to be.

"Only me," Crane says, standing stock still and looking with interest at the gun aimed so precisely at him.

"What. Are. You. Doing. Here"

"I've wanted to talk to you, all day."

"We talked. Old hat. All of it."

"Put the  gun down Abbie." She holds steady before lowering it a fraction.

"You got caught up." she says. "We were too personal, I blame the confines of the cottage, and we got carried away."

Her explanation is so cold and clinical it makes him want to scream. "Stop doing this" he cuts in. "These walls"

"These 'walls' I keep have kept countless people safe. Keep me focused keep me in check. Only you seem to have a death wish by distraction."

"I distract you?"

"What do you think blue eyes" she barks. "Look Abe and Katrina are going to wonder where you are."

"I didn't know Katrina was coming, I swear I didn't."

"I don't know what you're apologizing to me for. We aren't a thing, Crane. It was a slip up."

"Basic human feeling you still call such a hinderance."

"Basic human feelings got you in a _nice_ fix right now doesn't it. Hmm?" she asks pointedly.

Crane makes to grab her hands but Abbie turns her back on him while she holsters her gun. But he doesn't leave. She feels him draw closer instead until the heat is radiating off of him against her back. She shakes her head. "You can't ask me for this. You can't want this from me. My job, your life, is on the line Crane. There are risks."

He's silent a beat. She takes a deep breath and turns around, looks up into his eyes. Fleetingly, while feeling herself drawn into his gaze she worries that Abe or worse, Katrina will come looking for them soon to start getting ready and head out for dinner. Abbie can't stand Crane at the moment for his height, his persistence. The way he keeps managing to corner her, she is not someone who gets cornered but he's thrown her balance since this morning. The day before. This damned road trip, everything about him has her coming unhinged. Unknown. Damn it all Abbie wants is the surety of the life she has.

"I am willing Abbie to explore whatever this is," he murmurs.

She shakes her head. " _I_ can't want this Crane. It's not in the job description."

"And if you weren't who you are?" he presses. "If we met under different circumstances."

"That's a lot of if, buts and maybes'….." she trails off trying to sidestep him but he follows her movements.

"Answer the question." he demands and part of Abbie wants to sock him one for using that tone with her, but the ferocity in his eyes makes her so warm she feels vaguely dizzy. "Would you take the chance?"

"Yes!" she hisses, hoping he'll stop berating her, give her space, but he manages to crowd closer still, hands grabbing hers and pulling her close he bends down and presses his lips to hers. His kiss is slower still this time. Deeper.

No. Abbie thinks, feeling herself respond. Get a ** _grip_**. He pulls back and turns his head, lips brushing against her ear and shivers dance up her spine. He whispers. 

"Then _take it_."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well.  
> Well. well well.
> 
> Orion's double crossed Jenny. Payback for taking all the blame in Abbie's eyes during that hostage situation gone wrong.
> 
> Caroline is now in the same cottage area the rest of them are.
> 
> Um. I hope Cynthia's okay.


	15. Chapter 15

"Then _take it_."

"Take it huh," She breathes, fed up with him thinking he can come on so strong and that she'll just, _take it_ without giving something back. "Like you're some apple ripe for picking?"

He smirks at her. "Crisp, red, delicious."

"Yeah? promise?"

"Abbie," he growls, leaning in again but she ducks under him this time, jabbing her elbow in his back he staggers forward and then twisting one arm and then the otherbehind his back and swings him toward the bed, clambering on his back with his face pressed into the mattress. A knee resting in his spine. The whole assault happens quick and quiet, save for his muffled exclamation of surprise, now his panting breath into her sheets as she leans down over him.

Her body is warm where it hovers over his, and he feels a frisson of fire shoot to a very inopportune place. He also fears with her rough handing that he's pushed too far.

"Listen to me, Crane"

"Ichabod" he rasps.

She bites her lips together stubbornly. He manages to barely twist around beneath her.

"Say my _name_ Abbie. My God you just threw me around like a rag doll the dignity of my name will do." 

Chuckling in response Abbie lets her fingers play with his hair, the strands curling around his ear. She relaxes her stance just a bit, shifting her knee out of the way so she's straddling him instead. His hands still held vice like in her grip. He's broken this barrier now so she will take a moment to admire his forearms and the way the muscles in his back tense beneath his shirt. His flushed face turned to the side.

" _Ichabod, Crane_." she says, voice low, equal parts menacing and alluring. "You're gonna stop thinking you can handle me. You hear? You're going to stop thinking you get to have the final say in whether or not my livelihood takes second place to your own urges. Let alone your safety. I will have you, _if_ I want you, _when_ I want you. Don't start thinking you can disarm me." she lets him up, climbing off swiftly and standing while he rights himself, massaging his wrists wonderingly.

"I----I apologize if---"

"Uh huh." she lunges toward him then, kissing him hard, standing between his legs and then stopping his hands when they start to come up, trying to wrap around her. She holds him there, captive with nothing more than the demand of her lips and tongue, his hands held hostage by her own at his sides and then steps abruptly away  and shows him the door.

"You need to get dressed." she says, chest heaving she blows an errant strand out of her face. She smiles at his dumbfounded expression. "I hope you know what you've gotten yourself into, Ichabod Crane. I'm not known for being gentle."

Crane continues to blink as he stands, stiff and awkward as he notes Abbie's glance trailing down to his front. His face colours. "Are you pleased with yourself." he grumbles. "Look what you've done."

"Walls are built for a reason, Crane." she snaps, eyes dancing with an unruly fire. "It's not just about what they keep out. It's about what they keep in."

"I'm not afraid of you, Abbie." even in his predicament, his gaze softens and he extends a hand towards her. After a beat, she takes it. How did it change so fast, she wonders. How could she have so aggressively crossed that carefully drawn line in the sand? Took a wrecking ball to her own fences? Because he makes you feel like a human beyond the gun.

He reminds you that you breathe and laugh and that your heart beats, hammers, when kissed.

He reminds you that you like being kissed.

How long have you spent preserving, sparing, protecting other lives while yours was on hold? You've been making your life about other lives ever since Orion. Since you lost touch with Jenny. Since losing Mama.

Making yourself pay penalties for events beyond your control. He reels her in slowly and brushes his lips against her knuckles.

"You're full of surprises." he murmurs, delighted.

"Floods and locusts and plagues and forest fires." she warns, but there's no heat to her words.

"Drown me, bite me, burn me. I'm still not afraid."

"The way I handled you just now you should be," She gives him a small smile and tugs him closer, tilting her head up he kisses her sweetly for a moment before she pulls away, waving him off.

"Yes well, I need a moment to rectify a _situation_ , that you've caused. See you in a few"

"Get out Ichabod."

She turns around just in time to see the blinding white of his teeth stretched in a wide grin.In the hall however she hears him startle.

"Oh, Ichabod," comes the cool confidential voice.

"K-k-Katrina, I was---"

"Showing him some self defence manoeuvres." Abbie quips, approaching the door. "I will do my best to save his hide but in the event I am not unhand, it's useful stuff to know."

Crane nods gratefully, only flushing when Katrina passes her gaze over him, from head to toe, lingering a moment on his trouser front. She raises a brow. "Well you are an excitable man," she demurs and Crane barks a half strangled laugh as he shuffles past, not staying long enough to discern why Katrina has meandered down to Abbie's room.

Katrina watches him as he departs, her gaze trying and failing not to be heated if not possessive. She speaks, still turned toward the direction he left in, even with the hall now empty. "I do hope he's been behaving himself, Agent Mills."

"He's a grown man. He keeps his nose clean for the most part. This, possible assassin business aside."

Abbie holds the woman's gaze as Katrina's eyes travel over her, assessing. "He's a dear, dear, friend. Agent Mills. Ichabod Crane is very special to me, and Abraham."

Abbie bobs her head dutifully, waiting for Katrina to get to the point.

"He's a man given to fancy." she elaborates. "Don't be fooled by how prim he pretends to be, he is, a voracious man when the mood suits him. And callous with those who don't know better how to handle him."

"He's in good hands with me, Mrs.Van Brunt."

Katrina's lips purse before she tosses her head, flicking her red hair over her shoulder. She's apretty woman, Abbie will admit that much. Standard fare as beauty goes. Tall, lithe limbed, and a gaze that goes from distant innocence to that fine line between a glare and smoulder in seconds. And a whispery voice that perhaps could pass for charming, but just as likely call to mind the hissing of a slithering snake. "I know dear Abe sprung this dinner upon you, and thought you might borrow something of mine?". Abbie's jaw drops. That hadn't been what she was expecting at all. She begins to protest. She's sure she has a suit jacket and some slacks.

"I insist." Katrina says mildly, slipped back into that calm demeanour. She even smiles. "I'm sure I have, something."

* * *

 

To be honest, she'd expected Katrina to find her something hideous. While Abe's wife has no clear reason to be hostile towards her, Abbie sincerely suspects Katrina wants to be. So when Katrina withdraws the pale rose garment, Abbie's both suspicious and pleasantly surprised. She immediately refuses, of course. "At least try it on."

"You're very tall, Mrs. Van Brunt----"

"Katrina,"

" _Katrina_. And as Crane has been kind enough to remind me while he's been in my care, I am adorably short."

Mrs. Van Brunt stiffens. "Did he say that? Adorable?"

Abbie pauses and then shrugs. "He's, an odd duck."

"But that's half the charm?"

Another shrug as she looks over the dress again. "Guess so."

"I….see"

"Well, here goes." Abbie announces at last, headed toward the bathroom with it in hand.

When she emerges she smooths down the silken fabric over her curves and has pulled her hair up in a messy casual manor. It has pale fluttering sleeves and it's length skims the floor but gratefully she doesn't trip on it. It's about a size too narrow for her build, the fabric pulls and cinches all of the dips and swells of her figure.

When Katrina had worn it, had flowed and hung off her frame, like a floating, pretty, fragile wraith. On Abbie its decidedly more provocative, even in its gentle feminine hue.

But her own reflection isn't what catches Abbie's attention.

It's the stone that hangs around Katrina's neck.

"Where'd you get that," she asks, hearing her own voice go hoarse. Katrina reaches up to it, glancing down at the stone in faux adoration.

"A gift from Abraham. You know emeralds are supposed to be a boon for love? To attract it and keep it. Make it grow. He gave it to me last Christmas."

Abbie knows all of that.

She'd heard her mother whispering it fondly when she'd crafted that same pendant and its twin.

* * *

 

"The Emerald, Abbie, symbolizes, success in love, hope, a zest for life." She'd smiled while she turned the stone, this way and that, polishing and examining its clarity. "It's everything I didn't have with your father," she'd added without a hint of bitterness as she set one stone down beside the other, equal in size and brightness, and turned her attention instead to the 14k gold intricate braided chain she intended to set the gems in. "And everything I wish for you, and your sister. My lineage and gift, to you."

Lori Mills had crafted the Twin Emerald necklaces for her daughters, smaller versions were to follow in the collection she had intended to call _Lorelei Legacy_. But these two, beautiful, sizeable pendants, had been intended for Abbie and Jenny. Had only been meant to be worn by them.

After the robbery, after her mother died, Abbie had been too strung tight with grief and blaming herself to inquire after the pieces before the were sold off. She'd attached so many ill memories to the jewellery shop. To the whole enterprise. All this glitz and pretty trinkets and precious metals had cost her her mother. All of this, is what had enticed a thief in the first place. She'd wanted nothing to do with it.

But that didn't mean she didn't remember them. She'd know one of these necklaces, anywhere.

If she's honest with herself, Abbie admits that the loss of these heirlooms, one might say, this last remaining gift from their mother----might have been what set Jenny off on her wrong path, in the beginning.

She'd been desperate for something to hold on to, while Abbie had wanted so badly to be rid of it, Jenny was consume by this other loss. The last thing crafted and designed by their mothers hands, meant for them and them alone----gone. She knows Jenny did try in fact, on more than one occasion to track them---but no one would just hand them over. Not for what they were worth. Not for the haunting story that now followed these _Legacy_ necklaces.

No one would part with them, just for saying she was the creators daughter. They were valued higher than anything either of them could ever afford.

Which shows, in hindsight, how highly, how deeply and how close their mother had held them to her heart, to gift them something of such unparalleled worth, as a gift of love, a token, from a mother to her daughters.

And when Jenny couldn't recover them, she supposes other things fell in her way instead. When she went to jail the first time it had been a horrible tangleabout imported jewels---so Abbie knows the gems were always on her sisters mind.

* * *

 

Abbie is flabbergasted to see her mothers work fastened around Katrina's neck. And infuriated by the way the woman glances down at it momentarily, as if it offends her.

"Load of rubbish," she laughs, voice hollow. "But pretty, and expensive." Katrina turns from the mirror to look at Abbie properly. It's then Abbie notices Katrina is wearing a black dress, layers of ruffled tulle. It's an intricate, well crafted, surprisingly understated look. Fancy, but not the sort that draws too much attention. And just as well with the pendant hanging down in her modest bosom. "Don't you look nice."

Abbie's throat is still dry. She feels warm. Her head swims with memories and she's overcome by the bizarre, strong, superstitious notion, that when these necklaces were lost----whatever good fortune their mother had wished them, had been usurped by strangers who had no knowledge or appreciation of what they meant to two grieving girls.

For the first time a criminal thought occurs to Abbie. That beautiful, robust piece had been made lovingly by her mothers hands, meant for her. And she deserves to have it. To have all of the "Love and hope and zest for life" her mother wanted for her. To wake up. She just wishes she could think of a proper reasonable way to obtain it.

"You seem sick." Katrina says, head tilted with concern that may or may not be fake.

Abbie shakes her head. "I'm fine."

Katrina raises a brow. "Good."

* * *

 

"Agent Mills you are a vision." Abe beams, offering his hand as Abbie descends the stairs and then looks up at his wife following behind, expression already sour at his compliment to the other woman.

"Truly, Agent," Crane breathes as she draws closer to him. "Rose suits you, I think I'll be gifting you a rose suit," he rumbles warmly. "This does look familiar though."

"She borrowed it from me," Katrina supplies easily, slipping her arms into her coat as Abe holdsit for her. Crane takes his cue from his friend and performs the same action. Abbie blinks at him dumbly a moment.

"Well she's stunning in it," Crane continues, raising a brow at Abbie.

"What are you doing?"

"Being a gentleman?"

Abbie so likes to spar with him, she's dismayed she has no reason to launch a comeback. So, "oh" escapes her lips instead as she lets him help her in a jacket that is decidedly at odds with her attire. "Careful," she warns as he tugs it closed around her. "I'm concealing a deadly weapon in here."

His mouth gives an imperceptible twitch. "More deadly than this dress?" he queries. "You could strike a man dead in it."

"You're about to see me struck dead by Mrs. Van Brunt over there if you don't cut it out." she scolds, stepping back and away to a more appropriate distance, giving a small toss of her head in Katrina's direction. Where, sure enough as Crane lifts his head, he can see her glaring at the pair of them, waiting impatiently at the door. Abbie hurries out first and Abe emerges from where he just ducked into the washroom before they leave, headed for the car. Katrina sidesteps outside and waits for Crane to close the door.

"I wore that same dress that first night." she says casually. "I don't deign to dream you spoke so highly of it then."

He pauses, trying to discern her tone, her aim.

"What will you do with her when you realize you're ill suited?" she asks.

"I beg your pardon"

"You've been salivating over her, in my dress, no less Ichabod. The same one you had taken such care in whisking off my body, that summer night---"

"Katrina." he admonishes sharply. "What's past is past."

"Six months, Ichabod. Only six since you cast me aside."

"Katrina----"

"Six months in which you took two years and tossed them down the drain---six months ago, it was only six months ago that I lost our---"

"Neither you nor I could have been sure to whom that innocent belonged and you took care of that yourself at no request of mine," he snaps. "And you will forget it tonight."

" Too treat someone so concerned of your safety as you have myself, why it's poor manners----"

"I'm sure I have no idea what you're talking about"

"-----to think! You sleep with his wife, and then because he values your life, you dare to fancy your new security! Will you never stop taking advantage of his generosity?"

"Quiet" he hisses venomously as he begins striding toward the car.

"I've been good to you, to keep this secret so long, Ichabod."

"Considering what we did, Katrina, I balk to think you could in any fashion call it 'good'" He watches her face pinch for a brief second before he reaches the car, letting himself in and Abe emerges to get the door for Katrina.

"I warn you all I could eat a horse," Abe laughs jovially as he pulls out of the driveway, whether willfully oblivious or honestly clues about the tension in the air, he turns on the radio, and then they are on their way.

* * *

 

"Are you safe, Caroline?"

"I think so" She whispers frantically, drawing the curtains on the small cottage---the only one that was available---"I made a mistake, telling you any of it, Ichabod is my friend---"

"Caroline," the smooth voice scolds. "You yourself, who spoke so highly of your dreams to design and craft? Your eye for detail is impeccable, I certainly made fantastic use of them these past months. And it has been handy, to have my own disguises prepared to go before I arrive on site."

"Orion---" she chokes "This has all gone, too far. I don't know how it happened but it did.I won't be helping you anymore. This is way over my head. Please leave me alone."

His tone turns cutting. "I do hope you aren't thinking of discarding me, Caroline. I pay back those who attempt to use me in kind. For the moment I've taken care of our friend 'Chloe' but do not underestimate me because of our friendship."

Caroline sits down heavily in the arm chair, hands shaking.

"Yes, when I had no one but other inmates, there were your letters. And you so wanted a confidante. Someone to whom you could vent all of your frustrations and ambitious, though decidedly criminal plans, Caroline. And I did enjoy hearing from you. All of your paltry trouble, wanting to design for film and broadway, but laden with expectations---and I came into an opportunity to help you. I took my own assignment and saw a way to return your kindness and friendship and now this? Abandonment at first sign of trouble?

"I keep telling you I don't want it anymore. Not at all!"

"You're about to learn the hard way that you cannot simply set things in motion and then command they stop at will. I finish my jobs, Caroline. And I don't leave loose ends."

* * *

 

Delicious food, really. Decadent. The evening feels eerily celebratory. Abbie's been to some functions over the years, following this celebrity, politician or what have you. Big fanfare things, where she stood stoically by in her suit and ear piece, gun at the ready. She never, participated, even in something as mundane as a nice evening out. She opted out of the bureau functions several years ago.

It's odd.

For some people, an encounter with their mortality, makes them ravenous for life. Makes them craving gluttons for every thrill, every pleasure. Every finery and indulgence they had before withheld.

But for Abbie----all of those things that glittered and shimmered with colour suddenly had seemed fraught with an air of frivolity. Who had time for all of this? Fancy dinners just because? Nice clothes for fun? Get aways, holidays, lavish purchases, to enjoy life?It all wreaked of distraction.

And she'd learned twice what prices could be paid for distraction.

She doesn't like to admit it but everything after Orion, it took the edge off everything. Her job took centre stage. Her vigilance, she maintained. Clean, cold, sleek things---that was her home.

All of this pleasant, idle chatter around the table---fluffy and surface and sure perhaps good for the sake of socializing and a little humour seems pointless.

She tries to keep reminding herself of the futility of it, even as Cranes hands drifts under the table, unnoticed by Abe and Katrina, to rest upon her knee, giving it a gentle squeeze. Not once breaking stride within the conversation. She attempts a glare over her goblet of water but gets nothing more than an infuriating twinkle in his eye. She's happy enough to tuck into the food and cast casual glances around the establishment, always on the lookout.

It's the sort of place that keeps a live band. She thinks it's a bit unusual, but watches the few couples, sauntering around to the music, either centre of the floor or going to and fro from the bar. When their plates are cleared Abe inquires after a round of dessert. Crane nods enthusiastically, brows furrowed in interest as her peruses the menu and Katrina lightly calls for what she always has. And another glass of the white.

"Are you enjoying yourself, Agent Mills?" Abe asks and Abbie startles out of the distant place she'd allocated herself to.

"Great time, Abe. Thank you for inviting me."

"I wouldn't know you barely spoke all dinner. Come, while these two indulge their sweet tooth, let's have a dance."

"She wouldn't like that." Crane quickly interrupts, voice a bit sharp. Abbie glances over at him, eyebrow raised. Jealous, are we?

"Jesus, Crane. I know your accident prone self makes high demands of Agent Mills faculties, but I don't think one dance will be so awful."

"She----"

"I?" Abbie counters, intrigued what sort of excuse he's about to use now without entirely outing them both.

"She doesn't cross me as the dancing sort. Uptight little thing." he sniffs, recovering himself quickly.

"Oh do let me save you from his insufferable charms," Abe laughs. "We'll have a go around after Kat?"

"Hmm?" she takes her gaze off of Crane watching Abbie with a forlorn expression as she rises from her seat, taking Abe's offered hand. "Oh yes, of course," she flaps her hand dismissively. Abe shrugs and leads Abbie off.

Abe leads, and Abbie takes advantage of the new point of view to scour more thoroughly.

"I thought you might have use of a change of perspective," Abe says.

"Are you suspicious of anyone here?"

"I'm not sure what to be wary of anymore, to be honest. But I've seen you keeping an eye out tonight and I am eternally grateful. You might not get the sense of it, but aside from him being brilliant and a bit of a cash cow," he grins wolfishly, "He is a friend of mine. I don't want to see anything happen to him. He signed with me when there were indeed others knocking at his door. They wanted to reign in his ideas of course---"

"But you let him tell the stories how he saw fit. He respected that."

"He did. And I respected him standing his ground. His integrity."

Inwardly, Abbie grimaces at Abe's over estimation of his friends sense of 'integrity'. What does it say about you, she wonders. Crane is a man that betrayed his friend and agents trust for a fling, with his wife no less, and now wants to get involved with you?

There's a pattern here, she notes. Crane has no sense of boundary. He obliterates them if it serves him. What good can come of any of this, in the end?

"You're a fine dancer, I don't imagine you get much opportunity,"

"No. Not at all."

"Well, hopefully this will all be resolved soon, and then we can all go dancing, really tear up the town. I'm sure Crane would love nothing more than to give you a personal tour of a museum."

Abbie barely manages to stifle a snicker.

"I'm not kidding, that's honestly his idea of a good time" He widens his eyes for effect and soon Abbie is laughing, openly, because yes, didn't Crane on the first day show her the Library as if presenting one of the seven world wonders?

"Ah, speak of the devil. Throttle him if he steps out of line. I won't report you for it." and as Abe departs Crane sidles into his place, taking her in his arms before she can protest.

"Are we to treat this like an undercover mission?" he muses, keeping his head up and straight. "Back alleys, deserted stairwells, secret hotel rendezvous?"

"You would live your life like a novel wouldn't you."

He glances down at her and pulls her just a bit closer, releasing a contented sigh as he feels her body pressed against his. "Novels you can script. Life you cannot."

"So that's a yes."

"If it meant I could write a scenario in which you and I, could openly, without conflict, spend time together, yes. Abbie I hope you understand, I do not lust for you. You intrigue and infuriate me, yes. And I'm dedicated to the concept of research---but I am interested in you."

"Any closer you're going to feel my pistol, Crane."

"Abbie,"

"I heard you." she breathes. "And in the interest of brevity, and against all my better judgement---you do not make a good candidate for morality----by the way. Ditto."

He cracks a smile. "Ditto."

"Short and sweet."

"Like you."

"Oh God." she throws her head back, rolling her eyes. "I walked right into that one, didn't I." When she rights herself he darts in to peck her cheek.

" _Crane_!"

"I did not have the chance to tell you properly, how sinful you look in that dress. Katrina was rather dismayed you outshone her in it."

"She's glaring daggers at me right now isn't she----Crane, listen I don't think she's over you."

He bites his lips together "No, I….had a disturbing conversation with her before we left."

"Another thing, that, necklace----"

Just then Abe comes striding across the floor to them, his face ashen. "I have to go," he says. Confusion crosses Crane's face.

"Abraham?"

"On the way to the mens I heard the radio on in the kitchens---there's been an accident."

Abbie snaps to attention. "Here? where?----"

Abe shakes his head hurriedly. "No no, back in Sleepy Hollow, it's Cynthia, I have to go, I've called a cab I'm taking the car."

Before either of them can utter another word Abe is dashing out the front door and Abbie and Crane realize they're faced with spending the rest of the evening with Katrina, alone.

* * *

 

He has never driven so fast over such a straight period of time. He breaks every damning rule and when he finally gets back into town, it's going toward one am. He's tired, he's frayed ends but he rushes in, trying and failing not to be that hysteric unreasonable man at reception.

"Who are you to Mrs. Irving?"

"Her colleague, family friend,"

The nurse continues to look him over, unimpressed.

"Please." he begs. "I beg you."

"Down that hall"

" _Thank you_ " he replies gratefully and takes off, eyes frantic till he sees the turn off into the ward. Abe pauses. In all the time he's known his colleague, and close friend, a woman who's passion for literature in all its forms and business savvy had lead them into rambunctious debate on character development to marketing strategy---office lunches and press tours and organizing events to drum up hype together----he has never seen Cynthia so, vulnerable. And pale. And unkept.

No high end fashionable blouses and simple elegant jewels. No makeup, not signature red pout. Part of Abe knows he shouldn't take note of details such as these but he's been unwontedly cataloging them since they met. During rockier moments at home, with the constant up and down of his union to Katrina, he entertains plumbing the depths of what this inventory of Cynthia means. What he might brew there, beneath the surface of their fond friendship. He's flirted with that boundary, he won't deny it, on occasion he has let himself get dangerously close to crossing it, if not for Cynthia, firmly reigning him in.

She is all of that.

Now here, in this bed. He goes to her, listening to the machine beep. He watches the monitor, the multiple zig zagging lines up and down and up and down, the rate of her heart holding steady. He winces at the bandage on her forehead, and the one on her jaw. And the cast on her arm. He sits down beside the bed, and reaches tentatively for her hand. When he heaves a sigh of relief it becomes disturbingly and abundantly clear that the tentative dangerous feelings he nurses for Cynthia, are not to be put aside. He's so grateful that her hand is warm he utters breathlessly, "Oh thank God." and feels this deep in his heart. He strokes the back of her hand with his thumb. "I'm so glad you're alright." he whispers. "I mean, you couldn't have honestly thought of leaving me, Cynn, could you? in that big office?"

A groan. Her eyes wearily crack open. "Said my prayers and everything and they still sent me downstairs."

Abe blinks worriedly. "Cynn---?"

"I mean I must be in hell if you're here."

"Oh _Cynn_." his voice heavy with emotion as he lifts her hand to his mouth and kisses it repeatedly.

"Stop that fussing Abe----I thought you were helping--ahh-" she winces and shuts her eyes tight again, waiting for whatever pain to subside. "Babysit Crane."

"I heard about you. I came straight here."

She's silent for so long Abe wonders if she's drifted off. "Katrina----?"

"Just me, Cynn."

Another agonizingly long moment in which she processes his words. "Abe," she starts. He kisses her hand again. It's too much for her, trauma and pain and now for Abe tobe this next level sweet is disorienting. If it wasn't for that steady count on the screen she'd be sure her heart rate had spiked.

"There is no way I wouldn't have come to be here, Cynn. Even if it had been another four hours."

Slowly Cynthia opens her eyes, turning her head slightly to meet his gaze. There's no chance of us burying this, is there, she thinks helplessly, seeing things in Abe's eyes that she's tried to fend off before. Things that have always made her feel a little smart and warm. This is going to be a mess, she concludes ashe reaches to touch her cheek. She is just too weak to make a proper show of telling him to bug off. He holds her free hand against his heart.

"Cynthia! Cynthia---Mr. Van Brunt."

Abe glances over at Frank Irving just turned the corner into the room. He nods at him, making no move to distance himself from Cynthia. Frank looks between them, Cynthia's face gone peaceful and little slack, pinches with concern. "Frank?"

"I'm here baby." he strides quickly into the room taking the opposite side of her bed, reaching over Abraham to touch her brow. Abe retract his hand from her face but keeps holding hers. "I'm here. What can I get you?"

"You came." she says, brain a little foggy. She's never known Frank to be this quick leaving his job for anything. Certainly not over the weeks that he's cancelled on her. 

"Of course I came baby. Of course." he glances over at Abe. "Thanks for coming, being there for her,"

"Oh I'm not leaving." Abe says off handedly, turning his attention back to Cynthia.

"I'm here Abe, it's alright you can head home."

Abe sets his jaw. "I'm fine, here."

Cynthia winces. "Fellas."

Frank jerks his head toward the door, motioning for Abraham to follow. "Be right back baby."

"In a second Cynn."

Out in the hall Frank rolls his shoulders and massages his jaw. "Listen, I know, you've been, working with Cynthia, for a number of years. Things get tense in close working environments, I don't fault you for that, closeness. It happens. Her and I have gone through a few rough patches----"

"Why are you here?" Abe cuts in. "You're never here when she wants you to be---"

"I've been with Cynthia for the past, what, four, five months? Oh, what, didn't she tell you? No I guess she didn't because it's married folks business, Abe. It's between myself and _Cynn_. You got a marriage to look after, don't you?"

"I----"

"I'm here now." Frank says, tone curt. " _So **you** can go on home_."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wayment. Was Caroline on the phone with Orion?
> 
> Also, how's that gonna shape up with Katrina, Abbie and Crane back at the cottage?


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments pretty please!
> 
> they are my motivation! <3

A newly christened blond Jenny slips in the grey contacts, listening carefully for a door.

She'd ditched her car in the mall parking lot and had continued on foot until she was on neighbourhood streets. She'd casually observed a man leaving his home as she walked by. Good looking guy, chiselled jaw. Broad shouldered. Turned the corner and waited for his car to pull out of the driveway before sauntering up to the door, like she lived there, opening the mail box, shuffling through the letters. Counting bills and correspondence the way woman of the house might, before deftly picking the lock and letting herself in. No alarm---lucky, she'd smirked to herself. Guess my days turning around. She locked the door behind her, then went quickly through the house closing windows and checking the back patio door.

Breaking and entering one thing.

Being caught another.

And while she's quick on her feet? Jenny's wasn't in the mood to deal with that right now considering she's being hunted by Feds. "Damn Orion". She hissed as she unpacked the dye and bleach, mixing quickly while she hunted around for a towel in the linen closet.Cast a cursory glance at pictures hung on the wall. Someone thinks highly of himself, she'd mused, squinting to read the name on the awards and certificates sprinkled throughout. Luke Morales.

"Well thank you, Mr. Morales," she'd smiled going back to rinse and then shrieking with fright and glee at her changed appearance."Thank you for your unwitting hospitality."

After, tidying up bagging the discarded box and gloves for her to dispose of later, she'd decided she could use a drink of water. And she might as well see if there was anything worth taking with her while she's here. A souvenir.

She winds up in his study, nothing but books, books, books, she grumbles in annoyance as she surveys the desk by the window, and laughs a little when the drawer gives. "Nothing. Nothing. Garbage," she rummages around and her hand lands on a frame. The dark haired one, with the broad shoulders----"My gracious host Mr. Morales," she surmises but there's two other men in the photo. Tall beanpole of a thing. And the other, roguish good looks, blond curls. The face looks familiar but she can't think why. Something about the eyes. In the background, looks like they're on some sort of excavation site. She turns it over to read the hurried scrawl.

Centre; Me

Right; Crane

Left; Hawley.

Hawley, she double takes, flipping the picture back over and yeah, that does look like him. A bit younger, for sure. This has gotta be about, what, four, five years old. And Crane, why does that name----that damned manuscript Orion had her steal. Jenny wrinkles her brow, trying to piece things together. They all look like friends here, but then why keep a picture of a fond memory---"Looks fond" she murmurs as she closes the drawer---locked away where no one can see?

Even after all her years on the wrong side of the law. Jenny still retains a lot of the tricks and training from being on the good end. It's what makes her such a good crook. "Well not if you're caught here being a nosey parker Mills," she pockets the picture and frame all together, goes through the house, opening curtains the way she'd left them. Double checks that she's cleaned up after herself. "Don't want to be rude, Mills. Wait no. Who am I this time?" she casts one final look in the powder room mirror and fishes out a faux nose ring and some glasses. Tousles her blond curls and blinks the grey eyes. "Tessa Weir" she practices a smile. "Alright Tessa time to take you for a spin out in the world"

She opens the door, closes it behind her and skips down the driveway merrily. A changed woman, in every sense.

She needs to score a new ride. And figure out a way to get back at Orion for setting her up, but her phone blares as she walks. "Hey" she answers, faux chipper. There's a pause on the end.

"Mills?"

"Tessa Weir." she replies and waits.

"Good thing you think fast cuz you're on the news, _Mills_." It's Hawley, and for the first time since they've begun this business arrangement--he sounds mad. "What the hell Mills"

"Listen I hit a snag----"

"They're _looking for you._ You hit a feds wife" he stresses.

"I'm handling it."

"You better **_damn well handle it_**!"

"You know I've always wondered what a big time, hottest man of the year movie star like you wants with all this stuff. I like the trade of it, but you?"

"Collecting is in my blood, Mills. Always has been. So don't lose my stuff."

"You don't even know what I got."

"No, but I trust your judgement. No doubt it's good. It _better_ be good."

And then he's gone.

She loops back to the mall and tosses her trash in the overcrowded dumpsteroutside near the back and runs Hawley's words in her mind. For a minute there, the hollywood charmer had sounded downright cutthroat. She thinks on the picture she's got stashed in her bag. The stolen goods, the manuscript, written by the same man in the photo of Morales and Hawley. A job Orion had been paid for before screwing her over.

As she wanders to the edge of the parking lot, Jenny can't decide if its her left over training or just a suspicious mind that makes her wonder if there's something she's missing

* * *

 

The ride back to the cottage was strained and silent. Katrina had taken the announcement that Abe was abandoning her up here with them about as well as could be expected, with stony distance and eyes that misted up on occasion,silently swiping at her eyes. Although its hard to tell what causes Katrina sorrow. Her husband jumping ship to be at his colleagues bedside? Or her former flame sitting across from her, obviously besotted with his bodyguard, eyes roving over the 'adorably short' woman wearing her dress. She's feels like an outsider on all fronts tonight.

Katrina and Abe married on the cusp of a whirlwind spring affair---small, intimate thing---before they had truly understood each other. The years that followed should have allowed for so many discoveries and deepening of their bond. Yet instead their unexpected differences began to drive small wedges between them, bit by bit. Growing into chasms and herself retreating, deeper and further. Abe didn't understand. She'd tried and failed to tell him. Even before her affair with Crane, Katrina had not been in a happy fully functioning marriage. She'd been too weak of will to leave. Abe's career soared and he was still sweet to her, but the verve and vigour had long since waned. It occurs to Katrina that she stopped being married to him almost the moment they had said 'I do'

* * *

 

Once arrived they clamber out quietly and inside. They stand around, removing jackets and shoes before heading to their respective rooms. Crane's eyes had drifted over to Abbie as he took the stairs, followed closely behind by Katrina. Abbie worked her mouth, reaching back for the zipper on the dress as she closed the door to her room. She took out her phone one more time and dialled.

"Agent Corbin."

"It's me."

"Abbie. Look, we got a lead on Jenny earlier today---I suspect it was her but she go away from us. She was in a hit and run."

"What?" Abbie sinks down on the bed. "Is the victim alright?"

"Boss's wife. Cynthia Irving."

Abbie curses fluently. "Damn. Damn, damn, damn." Abbie mutters. "Is she---"

"She's awake, last I heard."

"I'm glad, but _damn_. Does Frank know?"

"Since we only suspect it was Jenny and had no clear ID, we can't confirm that detail to Frank. We've tried tracking the licence plate, no sightings until about an hour ago, ditched in the mall parking lot. No further details on your perp for Crane either."

Abbie sighs heavily. "We're missing something here Joe. Something's not adding up. Who gave you the tip?"

"Came in anonymous. Couldn't trace it."

"Where did you try to find her."

"Motel. The call came in the morning, shortly after getting off the phone with you. Male voice though. What are you thinking?"

Her brow furrows. "Nothing yet. I'm gonna churn this over a minute and I'll get back to you."

"Sounds good."

* * *

 

Crane is removing his socks and just beginning to unbutton his shirt when a light knock comes at the door. "Who is it?"

"Ichabod," comes the soft answer, a plea. Inhaling deeply he crosses the floor to answer.

"Katrina,"

"Let me in, please."

"I cannot be convinced it would be a sound idea, Katrina. Go to bed."

"Please, Ichabod." a pause. "Please."

He shakes his head and begins to close the door before her hand wedges in.

"I'll be quick." she says. "I promise you."

"One minute." and he steps aside for her to cross the threshold. "Katrina---" she grasps his collar and pulls him in close and then stops, staring into his eyes. "Katrina," he says, voice low in warning.

"Why was it so easy for you to let go" she asks softly, eyes wandering over his face, as if memorizing his features.

"Because what we were doing, was wrong, Katrina---"

"It wasn't wrong the first time? When you knew Abe would be away and invited me to dinner, to 'keep me company' while he was out of town."She slackens her grips but doesn't step away. "You said you wanted me. You said that with me you felt-----"

"Alive." he snaps irritably.  "Back when I entertained that, risks and danger, meant living. I was wrong then. Undeniably so."

"I was never anything to you? Two years? I was in love with you." she blinks and looks away. "Perhaps I still am."

Crane watches her, gently prying her hands off. He wants to be harsh but there is something about her reminiscing, that doesn't come off as jealous or even angry but a sad resolve. Like someone making sorrowful peace.

"When, when Abe said----" she chokes off into a sad little laugh, letting little tears trickle down her face she turns away and walks toward the balcony. She gazes longingly out at the water. As if it was calling to her. "I thought for a foolish moment seeing you again, we might have a second chance" She buries her head in her hands for a moment, back still turned to him. "But, you don't have eyes for me anymore, if you ever did."

"Listen, I----"

"You _what_ ," she whirls around tiredly and looks at him with an inquiring expression. "You _what_ , Ichabod? You were just as wrong as I was, but you get to walk away from it unscathed. I'm just the dirty little secret you swept under the rug. But what if I told Abraham. Hmmm? What if he, what if he dropped you altogether, I should have done it before he negotiated that movie deal for you." She glares at Crane a moment, her gaze hot with hurt before her lips begin to quiver. "As if he would have cared. We've been drifting apart for so long. And certainly, when I met you, and he met, _Cynthia_ \----well he's with her, right now, isn't he. Making sure she's well. ** _No one ever asks me if I'm well._** "

Her shift in tone alarms him and he tentatively draws closer.

"Stop." she commands, voice watery with tears. "I'm just a flickered out flame. Look, two men, _two_ , fascinating handsome men come into my life and burn me up and become so captivated elsewhere. Maybe the problem is _me_. Hmm? Ichabod what's _wrong with me_."

"I think you should go lie down, Katrina. Abraham left due to worry over his friend."

"You and I, started as _friends_ , Ichabod." she reminds him, voice distant and small. She sniffles and tucks strands behind her ear. "This isn't why I came here, not really," she shakes her head. "I realize that whatever I thought was between us, was illusion. And my marriage besides. I don't know what you think you're doing, looking at Agent Mills the way you do. Conspiring to churn up her life the way you did mine. But I wish you….I wish you the peace I haven't found since. Although who am I kidding? You've long since found it." she gazes out on the lake again. "Such a beautiful view," she appraises.

"Yes." he agrees cautiously.

Biting her lips together she thumbs away another wandering tear. "Glimmering, vast, still. Inviting. There is no body it would turn away. Look at it."

"I'm looking."

She turns abruptly and he staggers back, his eyes narrowed as she walks towards him again, offers the tiniest smile. "Goodbye, Ichabod."

"G-g-goodbye, Katrina," he stammers, watching as she strides back through his room and closes the door shut behind her.

* * *

 

Abbie's just finished changing into her sensible night clothes. Long shirt and short pants when she hears soft knocking. She answers immediately. "Yes-----"

Katrina sticks her hands out, offering her the emerald necklace she'd been wearing. The one that comes from Lori Mill's _Lorelei Legacy_ Collection. The one stolen the night Abbie's mother died. The one hand crafted for her. Abbie splutters. "Katrina what-----"

"I have no use for it." Katrina answers. "It has brought me nothing, in spite of its symbolic value. I saw you admiring it. I hope you can gain from it what I did not."

"Katrina, I can't----" she says, only because she knows that's what she's supposed to say, but she finds herself reaching out her hands to take it anyway, to have this priceless heirloom returned to her, it's intended. When she feels the weight of it settle into her palms Abbie's heart brims and she can feel the hot threatening prickle of tears gathering behind her eyes. "I can't," she says again, fighting to keep her voice neutral.

"You can and will. It suits you better, I think, anyway. And you can keep the dress, Agent Mills. Call them an advance on your, diligent care of Ichabod."

There's something in her tone that makes Abbie lift her head from the dazzling jewel to meet Katrina's eyes.

The expression on the woman's face reads like someone who has seen the world clearly for the first time and found it lacking. As if some truth has dawned on her and she can no longer avoid it.

As if she knows there's more than duty between Abbie and Crane.

"I wanted to dislike you though you've given me no reason." she says, "No doubt, he's already told you, all about---" she gestures vaguely in the air and then looks up at the ceiling, trying to keep tears at bay. "I find I cannot hate you for any just cause. Though not for lack of trying." she smiles briefly. She nods to the necklace. "It looks more like it belongs to you than it ever did for me. Maybe there's love and, good fortune to be had for you, Agent Mills. Maybe for you, I pray it will work." she bobs her head and then turns from the door, back down the hall. Abbie gapes, dumbfounded. Just today you wished for this to come back to you and now it has, she thinks, stroking it's glittering surface, feeling the heavy weight of the braided chain. Strong, thing. Like her mother's love. She's no sooner gone to pack it in her bag that an alarm blares in Abbie's mind. Something about Katrina seemed, off. She turns around, flinging open her door just as she hears rapid feet descending the stairs.

Crane had gone about undressing after Katrina left him until he'd heard her go down the steps, and the click of a door.

"Crane." Abbie calls as she peeks into the kitchen and common area. "Crane, did you talk to Katrina tonight----"

"Yes---she seemed out of sorts----"

"She say anything odd to you? she came down and gave me her necklace, said she wouldn't be needing it----"

"---I believe Abe's leaving made her morose---but she seems to have made her peace with us being finished," he says, though his eyes dart about. Something feels wrong. They both sense it.

"Yeah what makes you say that" Abbie asks as they hurry toward the front door, squinting into the darkness.

"She told me goodbye----"

" _Shit_ " Abbie takes off at a run toward the dock, adrenaline pumping in her veins as she sees the bobbing red mane drifting below the water."Katrina!"


	17. Chapter 17

Their screaming splashing commotion wakes other vacationers, and soon there is a crowd on the shore, muttering curiously as the blare of sirens draws nearer. The crowd clears, backing up from the edge when Crane and Abbie emerge with the limp woman in their arms. Abbie throws her on the ground, smoothing back her red strands and pumps her chest and then proceeds to give her mouth to mouth.

Crane shivers in shock. She'd been so heavy. He was hot on Abbie's heels when she threw herself in but when they reached Katrina the dress she'd worn that evening had been so unforgiving, billowing and swirling around them, determined to suck them all down. It had been a feat to kick off with her even with the two of them and get Katrina back to shore. He only hoped they hadn't been too late.

Abbie keeps breathing and pumping. "Come on, come on Katrina, don't do this," she breathes into the cold lips again and listens to her heart until Katrina heaves and spits up. Abbie quickly lifts her head up. "Katrina? Hey I need a medic over here!" she bellows sharply and then paramedics arrive, quickly loading her on a stretcher. By default, police have arrived too. There are phones recording and cameras flashing and it's not long before someone recognizes Crane.

"Mr. Crane!"

"Is that him? the author?"

"Who's the woman? is she going to be alright?"

"He saved her!"

"She saved her."

"Mr. Crane when's the new book coming out?"

"Is she dead?"

the questions come thundering down, a crush of people undecided whether to be caught by the spectacle of this accident or a moment with a renown author and Abbie immediately senses this is a dangerous situation to be in. Too many people, people that know him. Anything can happen right now. She grabs his arm and wrenches him toward the ambulance. Inside, jostling along with the sirens sounding in their tell tale whine Abbie bites the inside of her cheek. They'll have to move again. The cottage location hasbeen compromised now, too.

* * *

 

Caroline emerged from her cottage when the noise began, curious about the uproar when she'd heard people calling for Crane. "Ichabod?" she wondered, heart leaping into her throat. What's he, doing here. She had begun to back track but was intercepted by an officer. A dark haired woman with a smattering of freckles flashes a badge in her face.

"Officer Sophie Foster. You're wanted, Caroline Parrish."

"What? I had nothing to do with this."

"Feds issued warrant for you. You're wanted for high profile robbery in Sleepy Hollow."

"I didn't steal anything, she did!"

Foster appraises her. "She who?"

"The other woman,-----"

"Which begs the question how did you know there was some one else there?" Foster raises her brows for emphasis. Caroline blinks in wide eyed terror.

"No please. You've got this all wrong."

"We'll decide on that down at the station. Hands where I can see them." she instructs and Caroline raises her hands and then whimpers as the officer bends one and then the other behind her back and feels cold metal snap onto her wrists. "Let's go." Foster commands, nudging Caroline forward.

* * *

 

Katrina is admitted safely and expected to recover. Abbie calls Abe, pondering, what are the odds that the moment he left to be at his colleagues side, his wife attempts to take her own life?

* * *

 

Abe blinks on the other end of the line, torn. Frank left him in the hall after his frosty dismissal not ten minutes ago when the call from Agent Mills comes in. "She, _what_?" he gasps, gutted.

"They need your permission to arrange her transfer back to Sleepy Hollow. I'm gonna put them on the line."

Abe casts about for a place to sit and falls heavily in a chair in the hall. "Yes. That's me. Yes." his head pounds as the nurse begins asking questions to verify identity. Something about faxing papers to sign. It becomes a muddle in his mind. Down the hall is Cynthia, and all of the thoughts and feelings he should not have, swirling inside him. Down the hall is her husband, Frank.

And four hours away his wife has been admitted after trying to drown herself. He is inexplicably torn between where he wants to be, and where he should be.

They should mean the same thing.

But they don't.

* * *

 

They see Katrina settled in her room. They'll move her day after next, when she's been cleared health wise, at which point she'll be transported to Sleepy Hollow General Hospital to for further observation, but Abbie calls it what is is. Suicide watch. As they leave, both half shivering in their still damp clothes Abbie grunts to see reporters outside.

"Mr. Crane! how do you know the patient!"

"Mr. Crane! Do you think this relates to the threats on your life?"

"Mr. Crane! How is she?"

"Who's this with you, Mr.Crane?"

Crane throws a hand up to shield his face as Abbie herds him into a taxi, barking at them when they crowd around. "Animals." she hisses as they give directions. She massages her temples. "Did you ever have any inclination she would harm herself?"

Crane pushes his lips in and out in thought. "Once, when I had first started hinting we end it." he says softly, face crestfallen. "It was an argument at my home. She was in the kitchen, and I tried to tell her we should call it off." he glances down at his clasped hands. "She gasped moments later, she'd cut herself. I'd thought it accidental. Happenstance." he sighs and turns his head out the window, his expression morose. " She use to say sometimes she didn't feel like she belonged. Like an outsider. As if she wasn't being seen. She….she said I made her…..feel real. My God I was a fool. A bloody fool, she was crying for help."

Abbie huffs. "Don't beat yourself up about that right now." she rubs her brow. "What matters is she's safe, and she's going to get the help she needs."

"Yes." he nods solemnly, the cab is quiet as the two of them turn their thoughts inward. Himself wondering how he could have missed the signs. How could Abraham?

Abbie sits there, churning over Katrina's earlier words in her mind. " _He's a man given to fancy."_

She looks over at the man that has been giving her tender looks at every opportunity. His lips that pressed to hers so eagerly.

She thinks of Katrina throwing herself into the lake---her broken irreparable heart.

The way he betrayed his best friend and agent.

Of the people, whoever's toes that Ichabod Crane stepped on in the first place, for them to wish him harm or ill.

No sense of boundary.

The way he cornered you against the wall. Deciding all of the risks.

_"Don't be fooled by how prim he pretends to be, he is, a voracious man when the mood suits him. And callous with those who don't know better how to handle him."_

She rubs idly at the spot where her scar lies and swallows thickly.

 _Does_ she know how to handle him?

 

 


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> well this escalated quickly

For the second time that night they emerge from a taxi, short a person than when they'd left.

By some miracle, the photographers and reporters aren't swarming around. Story broke, captured, interviewed the area had been cleared away and once more the lake stood there, still and silent. Witness to too many things. They walk back into the cottage in silence. Both drifting into the kitchen, weary, cold.

"Can she be helped?" Crane wonders aloud after a beat. He's been in a sort of stupor since leaving the hospital, as Katrina's reality was his fault.

"It's hard to say." Abbie says thoughtfully. "It's not about you, you know. People don't up and decide to do what Katrina did because of you."

"But I helped her." he shoots back. "I, I should have had something to say, when I look back there were glimmers, but she hid it so well,"

"Well you weren't into self sacrifice back then were you," she fires back. "And usually people don'ttend to be of a mind to go broadcasting these issues to everyone. It can take a long time to even understand what's going on within themselves. She probably didn't even know how to tell you……" Abbie trails off now, feeling a little queasy. She's feeling aftershock from the events of tonight. The necklace returned to her. Katrina's attempt to take her life. This sudden shift in tide between her and Crane. Even that seems far away and frivolous in the wake of everything this day has brought.

How can she entertain anything more than her job?

Not to mention Jenny is still at large somewhere, wanted not just for robbery of Crane's cache but also the hit and run of Abbie's boss. For an addled moment her brain conspires to torment her with the possibility that maybe Jenny is somehow tied up in the assaults on Crane. She's weary, is what. Off kilter. She'd go to her room but the necklace waits there, with all of her memories and complex emotions.

She'd go for a swim but the spectre of Katrina's floating hair on the surface lingers there, taunting her with a life almost lost.

They'll need to leave here, by daybreak if not sooner, and truthfully Abbie doesn't know where she's going to relocate too. All parts of this investigation is up in the air with no clear leads, only that by morning, if not already, there is probably news coverage of the incident at the lake and no doubt mention that Ichabod Crane is in hiding out here. It might just be best at this point to get on the road.

"We should pack." she says. Crane lifts his head.

"Pack?"

"It'll be on the news, where you are." she says, cold, distant. "It's a hazard now." she halts in the hall, stalled between her room and offering to help him pack upstairs. He's going to dawdle doing it on his own, she concludes and takes the steps with him following swiftly behind.

"Where will we go? What makes you think----"

"Indeed what makes me think" she snaps, breaking off into a brittle laugh. "This. Lunacy, all of it. Because you know what Crane? this isn't all just a series of unfortunate events. You're a reckless man."

He stands in the doorway, watching Abbie hunt around for his suitcase, retrieve it, pop it open and begin stuffing the few clothes strewn about haphazardly in it, stricken.

"Reckless-"

"You don't get black mail and death threats for being nice." she spits. "You don't get enemies for being kind. You stepped on someone Crane. You crossed somebody, whether intentionally or not, for your own self interest, like you did when you went behind Abe's back with Katrina and you've gotten yourself in…..whatever kind of dangerous circus this is, and me in it because, my God, I'm stupid, you want….what." She tosses the shirt she's holding in her hand angrily into the case. "What do you want with me, hmm? Something to write about? The way you were going to parcel away the truth about your affair in one of your books?" she resumes packing his things, throwing the cover over, putting all of her weight into it, as she wrestles the zipper. "Is that what I have to look forward to when this is all over? An innocuous renamed character---wow, that's it, isn't it. You're still even working on the next one, and this, this, is all just you, finding something to make it interesting, isn't it----"

"You've lost your mind." he says. " I don't seem to have……much luck, with people, but nothing I feel about you, Abbie, could be turned into fodder for the masses I would never."

"Then what do you want?" she demands, still heated, still distrustful, wired, angry. He's an awful man, she thinks. To do what he did to Abe and Katrina and consider writing about it. He's a wretched conniving man, playing that he has no idea who he might have offended. He's----he's----

Unpredictable.

Dangerous.

A betrayer.

It must be in her mind because it feels like the scar has started burning as a reminder of what her last exercise in trust had nearly cost.

And alife that they were nearly too distracted to save tonight.

He is everything, in every way, everything that life has taught her to be wary of, to guard against. He's a job she should get done and move on.

"What do you want with me, this, all of this, when it's done? When your life is safe? Then what"

"You," he answers, voice soft and bewildered. "I---you will still be you, after, won't you? And I will not have changed."

"That's just the thing Crane. You won't have changed, and whatever it is you are, for all of the good that might be in you, there's…."

"A reckless man." he finishes thoughtfully, his mouth pulling into a frown. "The evidence holds. I've never truly meant anyone harm, Abbie. I've just never been a man possessed of much fore thought."

"So you're not even thinking about what sort of threat this poses to my profession, are you. Can't see beyond your nose."

"If that's the way you wish to see it, Abbie. I cannot argue.I….I am all….all of it. I am all of it. I am greedy, I am voracious, I am careless. I am selfish," he admits, his voice growing stronger and brazen in a way that borders between appalling and captivating. "I make poor decisions, rash ones. I get in and out when it suits me, yes this might just be true. I do---have done what I want in the past. I'll own that. But that's not the man I am, that's not who I want to be----"

 _"I can't do this_ "

"I am more than all of those things and I can show you if you would let me." he roars suddenly. " I have had complete faith that you are more than these barriers and I wish you would show me the same courtesy to believe in me Abbie. I am not a changed man but I am willing. _I am **willing**_."

"You could hurt me," she says at last. "You could use me."

"I wouldn't----"

She holds his gaze and he knows she's thinking of Katrina. She looms between them now. A cautionary tale.

"I'm supposed to protect you." she says quietly. "I'm….I'm supposed to be focused on that."

"For just one moment Abbie can we just be people. Just me. Just you. Don't be Agent right now. And I'll," he cracks a weak smile. "I'll try not to be this walking disaster area----" she steps in towards him, latching her arms around him tight. He responds instantly, resting his chin on her crown,a hand coming up to rest on the back of her head. Her fingers bunch into his shirt. Be it of need or fear is unclear. She's so terrified of all the unknown possibilities that comes with him.

And yet he is the only comfort she can find at the moment. Truly, the only one she wants. This case is as much about her past as it his life, unfortunately. That weighs on her too, Orion, Jenny, her burdens. They pool here in this complicated knot of unsure things. Unanswered, unexplained, messy, complicated things.

The only surety at the moment is that Ichabod Crane is tall, his arms are strong. And she has within her the power to take down a man of his height should he do anything untoward. But she does nothing when she feels his lips touch her hair. When his hand rubs small soothing circles on her back. He detaches himself and sits on the edge of the bed, waiting. This is her choice now, whatever comes next.

When was the last time she was reckless? had let go?

Don't think of what you've lost. Think of now, the present, the fleeting flighty small joys you could have now. These brief flashes of living, however misguided and ill wrought. Be a human here.

Be a woman.

Just be Abbie.

She approaches him and slides onto his lap. She studies his face carefully and lets her fingers dance over the angles of his jaw to cheekbone up to his ear, and licks her lips. "Abbie Mills," she breathes.

"Ichabod Crane."

Their lips touching is slow. Careful. As if it were the first time. How it should have been the first time. It's the first time of people who are living day to day normal. No danger and no skeletons. Their lips mould and part and fit again, gently teasing the other until a mouth opens, granted permission to explore. She shifts on his lap, turning so she sits astride him. His fingers begin tentative trek up the back of her shirt, making her skin shiver. His hands are warm, his lips and tongue are warm. She kisses him a little harder, a little deeper, getting a real taste for him, a sense of how good this feels, how real it is, how much she wants it as she rocks forward against him and he moans, low in the back of his throat. One hand leaves her shirt to grasp her hair, anchoring her as he returns her kiss with the same ardour. She feels too hot, suddenly, too encumbered by the flimsy fabric of her shirt and shorts and she's almost grateful when he begins helping her push them down but pauses just above her knee.

"Do you want this? Me? Tomorrow?"

"However long we have," she says. "However long you can make me be, just me."

Her shorts hit the floor.

"Come here," he says, voice soft as he swiftly pulls her close and turns her so she's on the bed and he's on his knees before her. He runs his hands along her thighs and begins to part her legs. "Say your name,"

"Abbie," she pants.

He kisses along her thigh, stopping just short. He nuzzles against her through the fabric, inhaling deeply. "Say your name."

"Ab--bie,"

A finger dips in around the band, finding warmth and wet. She lifts her hips as he grasps the waistband and finishes tugging them down. Naked from the waist down he gazes at her, bringing himself close again, plunges his finger inside and hears her sharp intake of breath. "Who are you" he asks. Abbie's head falls back, her fingers grip the sheets. "Who are you." he presses as he adds another finger, moving in and out.

"Answer me," he commands. "Say your name."

"Grace"

His lips close in on her and he throws a leg over his shoulder to be closer, to go deeper.

When she goes spiralling off the edge he catches her, moving her up the bed before he strips off and plunges inside her.

He demands she say her name, over and over again. Crying out for herself. Calling herself. Remembering herself.

Broken down to such simple words, her name.

* * *

 

Even when finished, breathing into her shoulder, still joined together, he whispers her name reverently against her skin. Lingering, open mouthed kisses and swipes of tongue, lapping up the sweat on her neck and back up to her mouth. "who are you," he breathes.

She feels loose limber free.

She kisses him and smiles.

"Abbie Mills"


	19. Chapter 19

As blue and shifting beautiful as the lake, she thinks,gazing into his eyes as he hovers above her, moving slower. He lowers his head to catch her lips with his. He still tastes like her. His lips are misleadingly soft, and the taste of him, and her remaining essence is a mix of salt and sweet.

I'm going to get fired. She thinks, releasing a shuddering sigh as he increases his pace, minutely. Breech of code of ethics. Took advantage of the clients trust and your position as protector.

His fingers dig into her hips and her own nails sink into his shoulders.

You're throwing everything away for what? To clear your cobwebs?

"Abbie" his voice shatters her thoughts and commands her attention. "Stay with me," he says. "Stay here." She licks her lips and nods.

"I'm here," she assures him, lifting her hips and the shift of angle is just right.

"You feel so good," he groans.

A throaty laugh burbles up out of her "Glad you find the accommodations to your---" a sharp intake of breath"---your liking"

He kisses her again and picks up speed, thrusting harder, faster.

"Very---much---so"

"God you're chatty,"

A bark of laughter as he determines to drive her to the peak. He's good at that, she admits as she feels her self coiling tighter like a spring. Too good at that.

"Ichabod," she moans. Because he had made her reclaim herself before, it feels in a way like she's claiming him now. She shouldn't. She shouldn't even entertain the idea of keeping this---but it is hers, theirs, this moment---whatever comesnext, yes, she can own this. "Yes" she pants. "Yes, yes,"

He's so good at making you everything you shouldn't be, Mills. Rebellious and desiring and happy----wait what-----

Before she can assess that thoughtthe world seems to tilt around her and she cries out in a reckless wild cry that can't be her own, but it is. Within her practiced outward confines she is a wild thing inside. He makes her the risk she fears.

When he shouts its her name on his lips and he collapses on her, rolling to the side so she can breathe. Staring up at the ceiling she wrestles with the odd, dancing feeling that flits through her. It's like nerves but lighter. Like something almost giddy, and too free. Happy?

Am I…..her fingers interlock with his, clasped over her abdomen. She turns her head to meet his gaze. There's a strip of sunlight pouring through the window. Are you _Happy,_ Mills?

"I'm scared of who you make me." she whispers. "I want, need you to know that."

Lifting their clasped hands he presses a kiss to her knuckles as his eyes bore into her. What he says next toes the line between a threat and endearment.

"I like you scared"

* * *

 

Abe went home the night before, to give an A for effort attempt at sleep but it was impossible. He'd only half managed to get back in the doorway of Cynthia's room before Frank had risen to his feet, brow furrowed and gaze dead serious. "I thought I said you could go home, Van Brunt."

"Are you threatened by a coworker telling her goodnight?" he'd retorted. Frank had barely turned sideways so he could offer a wave.

"I'm headed out Cynn. Feel---feel better alright?" She'd turned her head towards him, nodding before Frank had crowded him out again.

"Have a good night, Abe."

Home he went, empty now. Fretting and distraught. What had happened to Katrina? He knew she'd been retreating recently, but that has always been her in a way, a little aloof, set apart. Quiet. Of course, since her miscarriage, she'd grown noticeably more distance since. She didn't talk to him, the way she had back when the marriage was young. Over time he's watched her change from adoring wife to cold and sometimes altogether suspicious and demanding of him and wanting nothing to do with him in the same breath.

She'd gone on pills once.

It frightens him that that is the only thing he seems able to immediately remember, that she went on pills. To be honest, not that long ago since, maybe six or so months?

He hadn't been paying attention recently, he doesn't recall entirely the side effects, or has she gone off them and he didn't know?

The guilt that coils in his gut makes him void his stomach first thing before he changes for bed. And by change, he kicks off his shoes, removes his tie and flops down on the bedding, that smells of her, and his body quakes as he begins to weep.

You've failed your wife. You've abandoned her, all these years, she was wrestling with something you hardly paid attention to. You neglected her.

And Cynthia flashes in his mind, in the hospital bed. Then Katrina. Cynthia. Katrina. Back and forth, on and on, like a horrible nightmarish switch has been flipped in his brain. He keeps interchanging the two in the hospital bed and he wants to shut down, turn off his emotions and brain. Two different sets of sadness wheedle at him.

The woman he can't be there for. The woman he wasn't there for. And then Frank's accusatory words cuts through his mind.

"You got a marriage to look after, don't you?"

Amidst his inner turmoil, sleep creeps up on him and takes him away, at least until dawn.

* * *

 

Fresh from the shower, grabbing the towel before Crane could as he clambered out behind her---just this last moment---she keeps telling herself. Since they got out of bed she has been reciting this to herself. Vowing and promising when he drapes an arm around her trying to coax her to stay in bed---just this---when he presses his lips to her temple, nibbling her ear lobe---just this---when he followed her into the shower and took such care lathering her skin, massaging her shoulders beneath the shower spray before she felt his mouth on her neck and him pressing against her from behind---just---and then she was bracing against the wall, pushing back, crying out for him----just this----with the water beating down on them again after and they finish bathing and step out.

She keeps trying to catalogue all of these moments as 'the last' before she makes herself refocus on her job. On work. On not getting fired for misconduct or something else embarrassing.

In a breath she's disgusted with herself. To hug him. Fine, sure, she's been held by clients before---their gratitude makes them feely. To kiss him. Well, that was a misstep and she can't get around it but mistakes come with the hazard of being a human. Emotions have been running high.

But to sleep with him. Not once. Not twice. If she counts just now in the shower.

Three. One, two three times.

That's willful by anyone's standards. She struggles, wars with herself to feel ashamed, dirty, like the worst sort of advantageous creep. And she is, she does feel a little, wrong. But not because she did it. Not because his lips feel wrong or that he felt wrong inside her---to be honest he fit almost too perfect if a bit snug. She feels, wrong, because it's against the rules. It's a breech of her position of authority and power over him. That's what the rulebook would say. That's the defence they'll use to suspend if not dismiss her altogether.

Mostly, however, she feels downright horrible, because she's broken a rule and she insanely feels like she's been…..rewarded for it. Downstairs back in her room she changes and glimpses the necklace---last token she'll ever have from her mother---waiting for her. She hauls on her shirt and pulls up her pants, her eyes wandering continuously to it and Katrina's words bouncing around and around in her mind. Wishing her all the good fortune and benefits she didn't receive to be passed on to her. Little did she know, that distraught, confused woman, that in truth, she'd been returning the necklace to where it belonged in the first place.

When she's done dressing Abbie goes to it, lifting it and weighing it in her hands, her mind going back far to the memory of Lori's hands diligent crafting and feels herself flood with warmth and then ambushed by a sudden onslaught of tears.

* * *

 

She's back in the jewelry shop.

Her mother's cleaning up, putting repairs away.

The storm howls outside. The door flings wide. She startles. The thief is cloaked in black, the alarm triggered. The gun waving. The shot ringing out. The swift movement of mother. The blossom of blood. Her own screams. Broken glass. His quick frenzied hands. He was quick working. Swiped that whole case.

Abbie stills. But that case…..it had just been laid out. She's blocked the memory so thoroughly from her mind but holding the pendant brings it surging back in full force. Her mother had just finished setting out that display, not ten minutes ago. There were no signs on it, one of the centre displays in the myriad ones she kept in the shop.

* * *

 

"He went through the back door," Abbie murmurs to herself, her breath coming fast and she sinks down to the floor, mind racing. Had she truly suppressed all of this? Because the police came streaming through the front. He'd left a trail of wet prints going back. The backdoor wasn't clearly marked. It was positioned right next to Lori's office where she worked. How would the thief have known where it was unless---Something within Abbie quivers madly with shock.

It was someone who'd been there before. Not random.

Hands shaking Abbie rests the necklace back in her suit case. Her eyes play nasty tricks on her and she imagines her fingers covered in blood. That the necklace is drenched in it.

She's sure of it now, in a way that she had been too grief ridden and addled to consider before. Using the backdoor revealed familiarity with the store layout. Could it truly have been a coincidence that the moment Lori had the case laid out they'd been robbed? Had he been watching? How would he have----There'd been a shipment that night though, she recalls. She'd heard her mother chatting with a man in the back just as she'd come in, turning the front door lock behind her. "Setting it out tonight, finally!" she'd laughed. Lori had always joked with the delivery men. Kept friendly with them. Sometimes talked about what she was working on----maybe that had been her mistake. Thecargo was unloaded though by the time Abbie had made it to the backdoors---the same back door near Lori's office, the same place she accepts deliveries---the same place the crook made his escape.

He'd _known._

Lori had mentioned working late, the 'it' would be the collection she laid out in that case and then moments later they were robbed.

Her body wracks with sobs. It was there. All the answers she would have needed. All the leads they could have used to find who had done that to her mother but she'd been busy crying, busy holding her mother's lifeless body and replaying the terror of it, over and over again. She blurred everything to hold onto that one last image instead of the few details that would have gotten her justice. "Mama." She weeps. "I failed you, oh my God. I'm so sorry. It was there. It was _all_ _right_ **_there_**!" she shrieks and just then she hears the rapid footfalls of Crane descending the steps.

"Abbie?" he knocks and then lets himself in. He's dumbfounded to find her there on the floor in shambles. The emerald necklace glints at him within her case. "Abbie?" he draws cautiously nearer and folds himself next to her, reaching for her hands. She fights him at first, sharply tugging away, wailing and babbling nonsense for all he knows.

"I failed, _I failed,_  I **_failed._** "

He flounders for reassurances. "No one's shown up here yet. Last night wasn't your fault. Katrina's saved because of you."

"No, no, no"

"I'm….I'm sure, she'll be fine. And…we have time to relocate, you haven't failed anyone---"

" _You don't understand_!" tears from her in a feral cry that makes him reel away. She looks at him, red eyes and heaving and suddenly hates him in that moment because she cannot stow these emotions away. He's cracked her open. He spent the night and better part of this morning next to and all around her, breaking down barriers and making her this wretched human being that's awake now--- ** _NOW SO MANY YEARS TOO LATE_** \---to remember the details she glossed over. The last bits that could have set something right regarding her mother's death, instead of the unfair bleak gaping whole that had resided there since.

Crane reaches tentatively toward her again. "Make me understand." he coaxes softly. When he grabs her hands this time she doesn't pull away. "Tell me, tell me everything."

"I…..I just finally remembered something. Way---" she swallows around the lump in her throat and rubs her face against her shoulder to get the straddling tears. He reaches quickly for her cheek and thumbs them away. "---thank you. Way, too late. I'm an idiot." she curses, banging her head against the wall. He shouts and pulls her close, cradling her in his arms.

"Ssssh." he soothes. "Stay here with me now. Come on Abbie. Tell me."

She opens her mouth to start when the phone rings. Hers. "Damnit." She struggles out of his arms and toward the plugged in phone and takes a quick second to compose herself.

"Agent Mills?"

It's a female voice. Abbie frowns at her cell before she replies. "This is she."

Crane blinks in amazement at the cool composed, clipped business like tone that comes from Abbie when he can clearly still see she is in disarray. Her face tear streaked, moments before barely coherent. My God, he thinks. What kind of life is that? To turn on and off like a switch? like a machine? It frankly terrifies and fascinates him in equal measure.

"Yes. Yes. Thank you. On our way." Abbie hangs up and wipes her face again. She shakes out her shoulders and stands. "Get your bags."

"Abbie," Crane starts, alarmed that she's about to sweep that tender vulnerable moment aside. It's not good for her. It's not good for anyone. Keeping troubles to yourself is not healthy and should be talked about, expressed, dealt with. Help should be sought.

Unwontedly Katrina floats up before him and his stomach churns. Who knows how long Katrina has been masking and suppressing her own unrest? He failed to help her but he cannot entertain that there's a possibility Abbie is enduring something eating her up inside, alone. That's not something he's going to ignore. Not a mistake he can afford to make twice.

She raises a hand. "In the car." she nods tightly. "Get your bags, we can talk in the car. But we need to go to the police station. We're finally going to get some answers on this case. And I'm not going to squander a chance at information and getting the job done right."

"The police station."

Abbie chews her cheek, looking him over, still on the floor as if waiting for her to revert to the crumbling mass she was moments ago and seek refuge in his arms. When she keeps staring him down he finally begins to rise and she takes a deep breath. "They found Caroline. They're holding her for questioning."

"Caroline!" he exclaims"What's she doing out here----"

"Yeah that's what I'd like to know. So let's go get some answers."

* * *

 

Caroline has been shaking since she was brought in. Quivered in her cell. She's got bags under her eyes and has been behaving like a skittish mouse. When Officer Sophie Foster marches to her cell with keys in hand and tells her she's got visitors, she doesn't dare hope it's good news.

She slinks in behind the officer, head bowed and miserable until she hears a soft gasp. She looks up, and meets Crane's eye.

He's seated beside the shorter, darker, beautiful woman, with an expression she'd find lovely if it weren't looking at her with practiced aloofness. The gaze of one determined to turn you inside out.

"Caroline," he says quietly. Dumbstruck. Hurt. "Caroline, you? what have I done to you, why would you follow me here?" he looks away, face scrunched in thought before his eyes find hers again. "You want me dead? to ruin me? which is it?"

"Dead!" she shouts, hands flying to her mouth. "No, no Ichabod, No. That wasn't it at all."

"Sit down, Caroline Parrish." the woman addresses her cooly. Of all things Caroline finds herself checking over her shoulder for Officer Foster, as if hoping for moral support. But Sophie leans distantly on the wall and nods for her to walk forward. She shakily grasps the chair as best she is able. She was brought in cuffed and remains so.

"Agent Grace Abigail Mills." the woman says, flashing a badge, stowing it away neatly, clasps her hands on the table and glances around as if intrigued by the interrogation rooms decor. "You work in design, Right?"

"R-r-righ--yes and no"

"Yes _and_ no?"

" I'm not a full time, or official designer, I---"

"What do you design, Miss Parrish."

"Um." Caroline flusters, unbalanced by the line of questioning. "Clothes,"

"Shirts, pants, dresses, be specific Miss Parrish."

"All of those," she prattles, "Costumes, really."

"Oh, like for Halloween. What they sell at Walmart?"

Caroline's face flushes red and her brows knit. "No. _No._ " she insists, voice tight. "No, costumes. For plays, movie sets."

The Agent smiles kindly at her. "We all dream of Hollywood. What do you really do."

Crane is bewildered by the flash of anger that appears in Caroline's eyes at the insinuation that costuming, isn't what she really does. Like it's _less than_ of a profession. It was venomous.

"Write." she grits out through her teeth. "Write. Write. _Write_."

"And what do you write. Bestsellers? dusty text books?" Abbie entreats, goading her.

" _Meaningful. Literature._ " her hands ache from being trussed behind her and she begins to fidget restlessly.

"Oh, so nothing that sells. Doesn't get adapted to film or anything like that, like your friend's here."

Caroline's gaze flits quickly to him and then away. "No." she shakes her head. "No."

"It's a shame when your passion isn't enough to earn a living."

"If I could pursue my passion I could definitely earn a living." Caroline snaps. "Countless movie productions, television programs, and yes plays and musicals are put on year after year I would have work, meaningful, artful work that I would be proud to call mine----"

"So that's why you want him dead."

"That's not what I wanted---"

"What did you want at the archives."

"The archives." Crane blinks, looking between the two women. It's the first he's heard. "What about---" Abbie shoots him a glare and he clams up.

"I didn't want anything---"

"Items are missing. Did your accomplice turn on you?"

"I didn't _have_ an accomplice---"

"She turned on you though, knocked you out cold, left you in the park."

"She wasn't my accomplice I was guarding it----"

"Do you have a security license Caroline Parrish?"

Caroline looks at Abbie as if she's asked her something absurd. Like if she eats rocks. "No. I don't---"

"Then what makes you qualified to guard Mr. Crane's belongings?" she turns pointedly to Ichabod seated beside her. "Have you at any point or time requested that Caroline Parrish guard the archives for you?"

"No." Crane says, his heart sinking. The truth of the matter, that Caroline Parrish, friend and peer who he'd grown up with, is not entirely who he thought. "No, Agent Mills. I did not."

"Your explanation, Miss Parrish."

Caroline is past being bedraggled and is sweating now, her eyes darting as she tries to think.

"The truth, will do. Miss Parrish."

The silence grows thick with tension as Abbie and Crane wait. Caroline glances at the door where Sophie Foster waits stoically. A hand resting on her holster, like a gentle reminder.

"I've always known the way tothe archives, that's no secret." she says. "I use to go there with Crane. Right?" she addresses him.

"Ah. Talk to me, Caroline, not Mr. Crane."

Bristling she continues. "I….I heard there was a plan to rob, the archives, looking specifically for his latest manuscript."

"The one you were black mailing him with?"

"I wasn't---"

"No you're right. Forgive me." Abbie reaches into a pocket and to Crane's astonishment withdraws one of the scraps that had been found back at his home. " You were black mailing him with, this secret, he was thinking of incorporating in his book. This is the idea he stole from Luke Morales, Luke even mentioned it to you."Crane tries not to gape at the blatant lie Abbie spins but Caroline is quick to answer. 

"What no, it was about his affair with Katrina, Luke and I don't talk anymore."

That raises brows. "You talk to Luke Morales, Caroline?"

"Used…..to…..why….."

"He's not exactly, friends with Crane is he? Takes him to court on occasion? When my friends don't get along with someone, I tend to stay out of the line of fire. Loyalty and all that."

"Crane. It's it's not what you think."

"And what should, I think, Caroline?"

Abbie's expressions softens. "Look. Ichabod's having a rough time. Robberies, _attempts on his life_. It would be nice to think he still had people in his life he can trust. You've broken that. But if you come clean, you'll have at least helped to relieve his strain rather than cause it. Wouldn't you like that?"

Caroline wrangles a bit more in her cuffs, and then takes a deep breath. "Luke….mentioned, once, that….that he had connections, that could…could help me go after my career."

Abbie's eyes narrow. "What kind of connections, Caroline?"

"Someone in show business," she replies vaguely, now hearing how shallow the promise sounds out in the open.

"But did he give a name? Anything?"

"No. But he swore he knew someone. Promised he did. An actor, high profile guy but he couldn't just throw his name around or he'd get swarmed."

"But nothing comes free, Caroline. Here's your chance."

Crane nods head once, encouraging. Caroline huffs. "Oh _God,_ " she shudders, throwing her head back. "Here goes. I…you know those, inmate pen pal, systems. I…..I started writing in."

"Why" Crane begins perplexed before Abbie shoots him another glare.

"Research." she replies. "Dad…..my guardian, Henry Parrish. Said….it would be a unique examination of morals and ethics in my work to be able to actually communicate, with an inmate. Gather information on conditions, etc."

"What is your current literary endeavour on?"

" ** _Mo-ti-vation_**." Caroline seethes, perhaps catching on to the irony of the position she's in. Describing her own motivation for what she's done.

Abbie and Crane share a look before Abbie gestures for her to continue.

"I got one. Smart, snappy, slick. Intelligent. Interesting past, used to be in law enforcement. Authority. I started thinking, hey, this is great material, raw stuff, look at the journey I have to go on here, dad would be proud---he got me in this mess---"

"Miss Parrish"

"---The inmates story, is interesting, I ask him, how did he end up where he is. What was the very first moment that set him on the path that led him there---This was over dozens of letters--Said it was a job gone wrong. He conspired with his partners sister to get ransom money---they were in FBI, hostage situation down at a dock---anyway, they were meant to make off with the money, some crazy amount,but his partner caught wise and he shot her. And when he said his partner had _alsobeen his girlfriend_ , well of course I was intrigued."

It takes Abbie a moment to realize, with the eerily familiar details, except the one, which rocks her core, that the case Caroline is describing, is hers.

The night Orion betrayed her.

" _He conspired with his partners sister"._

"I need a moment." Abbie interrupts, standing and striding toward the door. "I'm not done here, Officer Foster I'm just feeling a little light headed."

Sophie gives a sharp nod.

My. ** _Sister._**

The words sink in.

Her scar burns. 

Jenny.

Set.

Me.

Up.


	20. Chapter 20

Out in the hall Abbie forces herself to breathe. Breathe. Breathe. When her slow pacing isn't helping she storms down the hall outside and doubles over heaving. She could do without that flashback that comes next, but it does anyway.

* * *

 

The kidnapper goes over, into the turbulent depths, hostage pitched her way and then there he is, grinning about a job well done. When she starts to walk toward the waiting vans and cars he doesn't follow. "Orion" she'd said. "Come on,"

"I'm going to…make sure there's no one else around here."

* * *

 

Probably make sure that Jenny would be waiting wherever she had agreed to meet him. Abbie can't seem to catch her breath. How much had they planned?

Was it just the money?

Or was her almost dying also a part of their deal?

Orion has always claimed he ' _didn't mean_ ' it but how far can she trust that now?

"Guess I know why she didn't come visit." She curses, taking deep breaths to get back under control. She has an interrogation to finish. She can wonder about Jenny's role in double crossing her later. One more breath before she performs an about face, half colliding with Crane in the hall.

"What the hell are you doing out here," she asks, blustering past him. He flounders as he turns to follow after her.

"I was coming to check up on you, you'd gone rather pale."

"Ah ah. Feelings are for off hours."

"Abbie, you don't _have_ off hours."

"We understand each other, perfect." She pauses outside the door, glancing over her shoulder at him, looking positively wounded. She sighs. "Listen." She says. "I'm bad, at this. Have been, since," she gestures vaguely in the air but Crane knows to what she refers. "I'm bad at….'being human' okay. It's been better for my survival, and everyone else that I've protected. So…don't expect me to be this gushing fountain all of a sudden."

"I'll take whatever I can get, honestly." he's so earnest when he says it she feels a little warm under the collar. You've got work to finish. She chides herself.

"That might not end up being all that much." She replies and pushes the door back open. Caroline straightens upon entry.

"Let's pick up where we left off, Caroline." Abbie declares, reclaiming her seat and Crane beside her.

Caroline swallows. "He told me it was his girlfriend. I wanted to hear more."

"His name?" Abbie asks, because some dimwit part of her is still hoping this is an odd coincidence and not more but doesn't Caroline Parrish say:

"Orion Angel"

And once and for all Abbie knows her past and present have aligned.

She'd leave again for another breather if it wouldn't look unprofessional.

* * *

 

Abe showers, dresses, drinks two cups of coffee and a slice of toast and gets in the car. He drives to the grocery. Buys get well cards and flowers. He pulls up outside the hospital and stalls before getting out of the car. Glancing at the gifts in the drivers seat and taking a moment to compose himself. What are you doing Abe, he wonders. What is this really all about? What do you hope it can be about?

Simple get wells and well wishing, he answers himself, releasing another shuddering breath he gathers the flowers and the card and strides inside. He approaches the desk and asks, "Does Cynthia Irving have any visitors?"

* * *

 

"He's…..I can't describe him," Caroline says. Abbie bristles.

"Don't." because of all things, in spite of this mess Abbie is given to the unsettling notion that Caroline had begun to romanticize him. She has no patience for fawning over a man that scarred her for life.

"Anyway…..he mentioned he's getting out soon. I…..I crossed a line and confided in him about my, career goals. About how this stupid book I'm working on is just another project distracting me from my dream. Something I hoped to finish to make Henry finally back off so I could go live my life,"

Abbie notes the shift from 'dad' to 'Henry' with interest. "He just wants whats best for you, you understand that right?"

"He's stifling me." Caroline grits. "I'm an adult and he's still trying to micro-manage me, I know he took me in I know but-----he doesn't understand, he can't relate to my love of design. It's the only thing I have of my mother. She used to make my clothes before…..before they took me from her. That's the last strand I have. She used to tell me about her dreams of----"

"You're looking for your mother." in that moment, its clear. "This dream of yours, it's about finding her."

Caroline sits still for a moment, with her jaw dropped in evident shock. All her resilience flees her and her shoulders slump. "I've been trying for years but my leads go cold. Maybe if I was in the right circles, in the spotlight, doing the craft, pursuing the passion she instilled in me, maybe she'd be able to find me." 

This is it, Mills. Abbie coaxes herself. This is the fine point you can use to get the rest. This is where you let a wall down. "I lost my mother." She confides and Caroline holds her gaze. "I was young. I saw her die. She died, saving me." She keeps her voice controlled but lets just enough of the flood show, lets the real tears come up in her eyes. Let's her face crumple with memory. "If I could go back to that night, do it all over, do it differently to save her, I would. So I understand, Caroline. I understand what it's like to hunger, to hold on and need to keep someone you've lost."

A sniffle, and then tears begin to leak down Caroline's face.

Abbie carries on, "I had a sister who would have done anything, anything possible in the world, to hold on to her, any scrap of our mother that she could. Anything. I know that. And she made bad decisions because of it, to put it mildly. So I get it, Caroline. You're not the first that wanted something so bad, anything seemed worth it."

Caroline nods her head hurriedly and then exhales. "Orion listened to me say all of that. Henry doesn't. He's……he's afraid of me running, getting caught up.He's a lonely old man.He's always stifled my pursuit of design and he doesn't understand if he'd just let me harness it, let me grow with it, there'd be less chance of him driving me away, but he's making me insane. It's like he resents anything that reminds me of my mother and it feels like he resents me. It gnaws at me that I can't….be myself! and I can't even try to find what I'm after with him, manipulating the way he does. He deliberately stalled me to miss a flight once, I was going to new york for a workshop and------I've had it." she snaps. "I've had it with him, standing in my way" The tears have come and gone and Caroline sits back in the chair. "Orion told me he understood.He was the listening ear I didn't have---no offence Crane sometimes you're really self absorbed---And well, I guess you'd call it talking shop. He said he was getting out soon and if he could come visit---yes, I told him yes, yes I'm that idiot---" she grouses, blows a strand of hair out her face and then continues"----I told him that Luke had hinted he could help me somehow. I didn't mention his name to Orion but, well. Anyway what it comes down to is, Orion gets out, he comes to Sleepy Hollow. He tries out some of the pieces I'm working on, asks if he can borrow a few---"

"Which costumes Caroline"

"Sleepy Hollow Hotel Clerk, a librarian," Caroline rattles off and Abbie clenches her fists. She knows for a fact, that Orion has always managed disguise quite well on his own, for years. He deliberately roped Caroline in to confuse the trail. Give authorities a false lead. Well maybe other authorities.

"Were you aware he would be using those same disguises to follow Mr. Crane?"

"No, I didn't know."

"What did you think he wanted them for?"

"Mischief," Caroline flusters. "Yes, to see if he could pass himself off like an employee at the hotel and library. He brought them back that same day after. I had no reason to be suspicious."

"You know there's a good chance he did that, just to tie you up in it. Someone else to wrangle around with charges of aiding and abetting while he makes an escape?"

Reality settles in the woman's eyes with a touch of dawning fear.

"Was it his idea, or yours, that interfering with the publishing of Crane's book, would give you the in you need with Morales to get Hollywood connections?"

"Mine." she rasps. Abbie raises a brow. "It was my idea. I had suggested it. I knew Luke was so jealous---honestly, Agent Mills, Ichabod, this was never about you at all, at least not on my end---I just knew Luke has been wanting a way to get at Ichabod for stealing his idea----"

"I did not steal his idea----" Crane retorts hotly

"No but you stole that cache of relics and began that horde that you've since been using as your source of inspiration." Caroline fires back readily, and then smirks to see she's shocked him.

Crane goes silent and Abbie turns a curious eye on the man beside her. " _Stole_?"

Caroline's gaze flits between the two. "Yes." she ascertains, shuffling in her seat. "He was gone for about a month on an excavation, went five years ago, himself, Luke Morales and some other, adventurer, trader, something, and they had good luck uncovering a stock pile. It should have gone in an museum. But the three of them agreed to split the fortune of it. Only Ichabod ran with it, without notice. And hid it, in the archive, that only I know about, because he's fascinated with the things, and began writing the bestselling series he can boast today. So. Luke's been wanting a way to get back at Crane, for a while."

Crane's tight lipped silence makes Abbie's blood boil.

There it is. She thinks. There it damning well is, all of his back and forth to and fro and his remorseful ness for the Katrina, and swearing up and down he has no idea why Luke Morales grudges him and the truth is, "He swindled them." Abbie concludes stiffly, matter of fact.

Caroline nods her head. "Luke told me when he made the offer. I didn't want to believe him but I saw them, each stupid one of the artifacts Luke had mentioned when I would go to the archive with Crane. Emblem of Thura and Eye of Providence, A Map to Purgatory,A mythic Key. Hordes of things----"

"That I have since acquired legally." Crane cuts in abruptly, face red. "Everything since then, has been legal."

Hence everything before then, he admits was not.

"I floated the idea to Orion, that if there was a way to stop Ichabod from publishing, then Luke would help me. It seemed a lucky coincidence after that Orion told me he'd been hired to steal Crane's latest work." Caroline bites her lip stubbornly, holding off this last detail before letting it out in a rush. "I told him where to find it, the manuscript, at the archives, directions and everything."

"And it never crossed you to wonder what Orion got out of helping you?"

"No. Besides saying he'd been grateful for my friendship---"

" And a possible pawn to throw the trail, great, carry on. Why were you there the night it was robbed?" Abbie presses.

"Believe it or not I had a change of heart. I had it in my head to stop Orion. I realized it was stupid and dangerous. I'd already started leaving those notes by then, hoping that would scare Ichabod---I'm sorry Ichabod---I went there with the idea to tell him don't do it, it's off."

"You hoped to reason with a criminal. Newly released, and already back into crime, that he should just, reconsider his paid job."

"I think I already admitted to being an idiot, didn't I?" she huffs, gone hostile.

"But he wasn't there. You were, and Jennifer Mills."

 _Mills_. It's Crane's turn to level a perplexed glance her way.

Caroline frowns. "She introduced herself as Chloe Germain. Just said she was out to loot, that's all. I was out like a light by the time she was finished, and headed here. To hide. I thought I'd done enough alerting Abe of the robbery. I was hoping I could walk away from it. Orion called me to ask if I was safe, and then threatened that I can't back out. I don't know what that means or if it was just an empty threat, but there it is. That's honestly all of it."

Abbie chews her cheek, processing and then exchanges a glance with Sophie Foster and a quick nod. She rises to stand and Crane joins her as she strides towards Foster at the door. "Thank you, Officer Foster. I'd like arrangements to be made for her to be transported back to Sleepy Hollow, so she can be dealt with there."

"Dealt with?" Caroline exclaims. "I told you everything. The only thing I'm guilty of is sending some notes to Ichabod, and they weren't even threatening!"

Abbie turns back around, her gaze gone cold and her demeanour icy. "After all I've heard today Caroline, I'm not sure if you're a gullible innocent, or a calculated crook yourself who just happened to get caught. But I don't think that's something we'll solve today, will we. Thank you for your cooperation." and with another respectful nod she exits the room, Crane in tow.

"Long winded thing isn't she" Sophie mutters as they pass. Abbie's mouth quirks.

"Guess she sees the trouble that comes from talking too much now."

* * *

 

In the parking lotAbbie wants to wrack her brains on the next move but she's stuck on the detail Crane willfully omitted. " ** _Stole?_** " she rasps, turning towards him. "You stole from Morales----"

"They were going to sell on black market, they're ancient relics, the should be preserved, kept---"

"In a **_Goddamn_** Museum" she growls. "But ** _you_** kept them, because you're selfish, self serving and covetous and like things you shouldn't have. Is that it? Is that damning well it Ichabod Crane? You like rare artefacts you keep them illegally for yourself. You like taken women; you screw over your best friend. You like breaking rules and crossing boundaries so you come on to me. That's all it is with you. I was never wrong and I was an idiot to fool myself into thinking so just so I could justify----last night, this morning----You are that reckless voracious man.And you willfully lied to me."

"I didn't _lie_."

"I asked you about your history with Morales and you just _happen_ to omit you are by definition a thief? Is that it?"

"That shouldn't so shock you, Agent Mills. Caroline ran into that robber, Jennifer Mills----coincidence?"

Abbie bites her lips together. "Mills is a damn common name. I don't know what you're trying to say, Crane."

"Only that it seemed oddwhen you excused yourself earlier it was at the mention of the word 'sister' and you said yourself in there you have a sister who made poor decisions,  then the name Mills comes up just now, and----" her hands lances out toward his throat wrapping in his collar and jerking him down to her level.

"Shut the **_fuck_** up" she snaps. "You have been nothing but insurmountable trouble in every. Damn. Life" she shakes him vigorously with each word. "You. Have. Crossed. Including mine. You are that one. And I can't afford it anymore. I thank you for last night, this morning, it's been _grand,_ it should hold me over for a while. But I think this case is just about wrapped, we're headed back to Sleepy Hollow. You go back to your life. I go back to mine."

She pitches him away from her and gets in the car.

* * *

 

"Knock knock"

"Frank?"

Abe feels his heart foolishly fall as he draws nearer into the room. "No, just--just me, Cynn."

"Abe?" She's sitting up today, she looks far more alert, and though bare faced there's a slight flush in her cheeks that decidedly looks more healthy than she did the night before. He offers a small smile. "What are those for?" she asks with a hint of amusement in her tone.

"Get well?" he offers shyly as he sidles in. "Where's Frank?"

"Work called," she waves her free hand vaguely. "Always is. Upholding the law, keeping people safe, doesn't take holidays,"

"You're his wife," Abe stresses in a way that makes Cynthia wince at the judgement in his tone. She's had that argument with Frank over the years, too. It ends in more arguing.

"It's his job," she hears herself weakly reply. Abe glances over at her and frowns as he takes the seat bedside. She turns her head his way, meeting his gaze and wishes she hadn't. Something about this feels distinctly as if they are on the cusp of wrong. Dangerously close to making a mistake. She notes the bouquet and her lips twitch. "I can't believe you brought me flowers."

Abe clears his throat. "I admit I don't know your favourite----"

"No." Cynthia says, swallowing thickly as she does a quick inventory of the blooms, her stomach feels a little queasy. She does keep flowers in her office. She'd have never thought Abe noticed. "No, you do." she says softly inhaling as he holds them a loft. Roses. Hyacinth. Lilac. Lavender. She doesn't usually like lavender it tends to make her drowsy but if she's got a stressful week ahead she'll keep a few around to help her relax. They've never spoken about it before, not once. But he'd remembered. Stored it away. She eyes Abe carefully as he withdraws it and lays them on the table before offering her the card. What else are you keeping track of about me Abe, she wonders, and accepts the card with the one hand. It's a nice card. One of those expensive fraught with sentiment ones and lots of frill and letter work and gilded edges on the front. She opens it and begins to read:

_My thoughts are with you when you're not here._

_I didn't realize how much space you take._

_You are a beacon of light._

_And a refuge from storms._

_A true, strong woman._

_Who fights with her all._

_Get Well Soon._

 

And then, written in his own hand;

 

_Cynn, I was so scared when I'd heard. I felt real fear._

_And even when I came in last night you cracked jokes and made me laugh and you were so, **you**._

_Get Well, quickly, **please**._

_Love Abe._

When Cynthia lifts her head her heart is pounding. It's sweet. Very sweet. The card is nice and the words are like any surface sentiment, and maybe she could write it off as just that if she couldn't feel the weight of his eyes on her. Or if she could stop for one minute tracking her eyes over and over and over the signed 'Love Abe'. It means nothing. She scolds. It has to mean nothing. He's your friend, colleague co-worker, he's married, you're married. We're friends. It's never been more than that, has it?

He did try you the other night, her mind wheedles. When he was drunk, she chides herself again. He didn't mean it, he couldn't have----"Thank you, Abe." she manages at last. "It's very sweet."

He exhales, releasing a breath he hadn't known he was holding. "How do you feel?"

"Like I was hit by a car" she teases and Abe chuckles softly.He reaches to touch her forehead and she winces. "I can just hope it won't scar."

"And so what if it does. Thank God you're okay."

"Abe."

"Cynthia," he counters. "You…..I didn't know you and Frank…..I thought you were separated."

"More or less," She huffs. "We'd been reconnecting up until, a few weeks ago. Same old same old."

"You didn't tell me,"

"Why would I---"

"We're friends, that's all." Abe recovers quickly, catching himself before he trips into that dangerous territory. "We tell each other everything. I mean you know just about everything between me and Katrina----"

"Maybe I shouldn't," she cuts in and he falters. Cynthia reaches to lay the card on the stand and then looks back at him. "I mean, I think maybe we've been too involved, in each others lives."

"We see each other, every single day."

"I know. That's it though, isn't it?"

"I don't follow."

"I'm going to be released in a few. One more cat scan. And then I'm going back into the city with Frank."

"Cynthia---"

"Take some time off, heal, You know I'm right handed I can't sign off anything as is, or lift anything----"

"I could do it for you, I would do it for you----"

"Have some space you know, refocus---"

"On _what_ , Cynthia I don't understand---"

" _We're still **married**_ , _Abe_." She hisses. "Vows. For better for worse. In Sickness and in Health we owe it to ourselves to try. A brush with death gives you perspective."

He opens his mouth to retort, to mention that she's been trying with Frank for years but his ears ring with 'in sickness and in health' and he thinks of Katrina.

What am I doing here.

Cynthia's eyes shimmer but she keeps calm and cool.

"I wish you would stay. I'd help you at the office, Cynn."

"And at home?" she prods. "Who's going to get me ready for bed? Help me make dinner? You too? And what about Kat?"

He can't. He knows he can't do any of those things. He hasn't told her about Katrina's suicide attempt yet or else he'd have thought Cynthia was being deliberately cruel. He shakes his head tightly. It wounds him.It becomes more clear each and every second that yes, he would do all of those things for her. It's not that he doesn't want to but that he actually can't that hurts. She must know as well as he, that Frank won't be there for her the way she'll need. She must know that. But then why make this effort to repair what Abe had understood to be a near broken thing.

Unless it's really just you, Abe.

She doesn't want to be around you.

He's silent as he looks back on the years they've known each other but realizes, no, that isn't right, either. It's when he turns to look her in the eye and she holds it but a moment before looking away that he understands.

She's running away from you.

"Abe, I've…I'm not…."

"You need rest." He finishes helpfully and she nods mutely, still refusing to look at him. "I'll head out now," But he takes his time, rising to his feet, fluffs her pillow and leaning in, because he doesn't know what comes next, what happens after today, he can't know what risks he can take, he presses his lips to her forehead and lingers there. Her eyes flutter closed. When he pulls away he grasps her hand and kisses it. Lingering there too. She watches him, wrestling, failing to come to terms with the gut wrenching effect its all having on her. **_"I'll miss you_**." he murmurs, heart felt. " ** _You have noidea how much_**."

"You too, Abe."

He releases her, straightens and leaves.

About half and hour later is when Frank gets back striding into the room only to find Cynthia fast asleep. Sighing he loosens his tie and takes a seat.

And then notices the flowers.

And the card, still open on the table.

Frank reads the message and then pauses at the bottom, where it's signed and by whom. He sits there quietly while Cynthia sleeps.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise to fix what I broke.


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From this point on, Jennifer Mills, is dead, and will be carrying on under her new alias, Tessa Weir as I write. Just to keep that clear and straight.

Jenny Mills aka Tessa Weir,can't leave town. There's a barricade at the borders. They're looking for her not only for the robbery but for hitting a feds wife. "Frank's pulled out all the stops on this one," she mutters in mild surprise.

Even back when she was in the field, everyone knew Frank's high achievement record on cases, and also his astonishingly low score in the marital department. Everyone knows he doesn't make the same fuss over his wife that he has his job over all these years. Jenny's a little shocked he bothered to make commotion over this. "Although I suppose he still cares if she's hurt." she speaks into her cup, taking deep breaths. She's been listening for news that Mrs. Irving was reported okay.

Yes. She's a crook.

A thief.

And it's served her well to be cutthroat and mean and gun wielding. She's harmed people before, she doesn't boast it, it just comes with who she is, who she's chosen to be. But she's never accidental, never careless. Like what she did to Mrs. Irving.That's never something she's done----except that one time.

That time she keeps trying to wash her hands of but can't.

She was wrong to set Abbieup. She knows that.

Part of her had thought they'd be able to heal afterwards, after all, Abbie was never meant to find out she was getting crossed. Orion was just supposed to get me the money so I could get back what was ours, is what she hashes out in her head time and time again. She bites her lips hard together, looking back on the life she chose and wondering if it's really been worth it.

Mama's dead.

Chasing thrills and rare gems, that won't bring her back. But she'd had hopes then. If Orion hadn't screwed it up, gotten her, her half of the money, she'd have been able to buy the _Lorelei Legacy_ jewels that had turned up in Atticus Antique Wares.

Atticus Nevins, longrunning reputation as a thoroughbred crook. Smuggler, you name it. But had the nerve to set up a shop front, and she supposes had enough connections to fly under the radar for what he sold. But it was still backwater, underground and seedy to get into. High security place that she would be outnumbered in easily, back then. She's had to fight her way out of close quarters since so she's deadlier now.But back then Jenny had always rolled alone. Didn't have the in with any of Nevins people no, the only way she was getting in that shop was if she showed up with cash and tons of it. Double probably what he expected to get for them.

That's what it had really been about, in the end. She looks back on what it nearly cost--Abbie's life---and feels stupid and reckless for it. But that's what it had always been about. When she'd heard about the hostage case, some millionaire kid, and the ransom being demanded, she's seen her shot. She knew Orion, knew Abbie, ---she'd kept tabs on her before she'd vanished into the underworld for good---and she was just in it to get the money, get to Nevins shop, finally, at long last retrieve the final fragment of their mother, and…….

Well.

She likes to tell herself, she'd have quit the life. Given Abbie the one necklace and keep the other and go lay low for a while, switch up her life the way she's been for all these years. Only her long time employer, eccentric collector and increasingly popular movie star Nicholas Hawley calls her by birth name regularly anymore…… _Tessa Weir,_ has made her peace with the fact that she won't ever be widely known as Jennifer Mills again. That's not someone she can ever go back to being, full time.

But, she likes to tell herself, after vanishing for a while, letting the heat die down, she'd surface again someone new, and she'd find Abbie and take all of the anger and guilt and hatred she would have earned for the stunt, but would have worked to repair the relationship she'd destroyed by blaming Abbie for their mothers death to begin with.

But Abbie was smart. And Orion panicked. The gun fired.

And that was never part of the plan.

And shame, guilt, pure unadulterated cowardice, made her run. She couldn't face Abbie knowing the role she'd played. Couldn't bare it.

And hasn't seen her since.

Now, she's at a coffee shop. She'd had to loop back around after trying to get to the edge of town and seeing in the distance that she wasn't getting through there without a search and questioning. Her face keeps flashing before her on screens and it makes her anxious. A feeling she's not acquainted with. She's got a bag full of proof she's a thief, her face out, 'wanted' blasting across the air on the radio, and an impressive amount of charges they'll look forward to swinging her for if she doesn't figure a way to get the hell out of dodge. There's also the matter however of how she's gonna do Orion back the favour of trying to get her caught. She thinks all of this, casually, coolly, as she drinks the coffee she ordered and glances up on the tv that for once has stopped rolling the footage "If you've seen her, five foot seven, african american dark curly hair' and cut instead to another incident. Something lakeside, with 'breaking news' rolling across the bottom.

Flashing "Renown Author, Hero?"

"It could be that Ichabod Crane, Author of the Apocalypse Chronicles is a hero,"

Her head shoots up. This damned thing Orion tricked her into stealing. Ichabod Crane's manuscript. Slowly her hand drifts to the heavy thing nestled in her bag among the other items she acquired. She watches as footage plays of the same tall gangly man struggles up out of the water with a shorter woman and a drenched, unconscious form. He's instantly bombarded by the media horde but in the background Tessa can just make out the person trying to revive the victim. And then there's movement and the man is being herded into an ambulance and---it's brief. It's so quick but there's no mistaking it. Throwing a hand up to block the glare of the camera they still get a glimpse of the other persons face. Her face.

And it's _Abbie._

The reporters speculate and they roll more footage of witnesses recounting what they'd seen out by the lake and then the station is kind enough to lap back once more on "Jennifer Mills, wanted for assault and theft----" sharply interrupted by more "breaking news" Tessa leans her head on her palm, watching with interest until she recognizes the person they're marching out of the station and into a police car. What are the odds I know everyone on TV, she muses.

"Caroline Parrish was apprehended today. She is a suspect in the robbery of Ichabod Crane's Archives and threats to the authors life."

"There's that damn name again," Tessa mutters, the cogs in her brain turn. She's come across that man's name too much recently and it's starting to feel like more than coincidence. She waves the waiter over and orders a sandwich, and once they're gone, she rummages in her bag for the picture she filched from Morales. In the background the news drones on.

"Ichabod Crane, New York Times Best Selling Author, Scholar and Philantropist narrowly avoided being poisoned three months ago, and as recently as three weeks ago there was an explosion near the hotel in which he stayed……"

Her eyes zero in on the three mens faces. Smiling, accomplished, arms thrown around one another. Crane hasn't changed that much, she notes. Morales looks more or less the same. But she's stuck trying to figure out what her employer, Nicholas Hawley is doing in this photograph. And can't for the life of her place if he's ever mentioned having an author friend.

"His best selling books are being adapted for film currently and shooting is slotted to begin next week. Fans eagerly await the next instalment of the series."

So Abbie's protecting him then, she concludes. For a frivolous moment she'd thought maybe her sister had recovered from that betrayal and gotten herself a boyfriend, was having a vacation. But she should no better considering who Abbie is. She'd already been wound tight when Lori passed and she's been no help with her scowling and berating and blame.

She'd turned her back on Abbie when she should have turned toward. She shakes her head. "Enough of that, _Weir_ ," she reminds herself. She should have chosen a different name. She finds this one hard to stick in her head. She stuffs the picture away when her order arrives and bites into it chewing heartily.

"Still at large Orion Angel who escaped from his cell----"

"Is nothing else on?" Tessa interrupts. Every single damn bit of nonsense spewing from the screen seems tied to her and it's making her jittery. Like walls are closing in. She feels self conscious about the bag and even with her appearance so changed she feels as though there's an arrow pointing downwards over head. "Criminal Here"

The server hears her grumble and covertly asks their coworker behind the counter to switch the station. Tessa smiles gratefully at them until the music is interrupted once again with the tell tale network music of, "For Christ Sake" she curses, the news.

"Cynthia Irving, the victim of yesterday's hit and run has stabilized and should be released shortly. She suffered  wounds to head and jaw and a broken arm but is expected to fully recover." She exhales a sigh of relief. That's one thing at least off her chest. As she's eating the door to the shop opens and in strolls two black clad men. Both remove dark shades at the same time as they enter, their eyes scouring before the one makes an order for a coffee. They wear holsters on their hips and she notices one of them imperceptibly flash a badge.

Shit. She thinks, nonchalantly continuing to eat. They walk by her, seemingly paying no mind and then sit in the booth behind her. You've got to be kidding me. She thinks. The men chat quietly but she's still got those spying ears and she listens while she eats, also trying to gather her things casually so she can walk out undetected.

"Glad bosses wife is okay at least."

"Yeah, I know they've had a rough go, but it's good to hear that she's alright. Maybe they can get back on track now."

"Think that means he'll take a vacation?" one jokes.

"Probably not. He still wants the person who hit her."

"I would too, if it were my wife. Wonder where she was headed though, she had that massive rock on her."

Rock?

The thief in her, the criminal mind perks up at mention of it.

"Look if she got that from Frank I'm having words with him about my salary. I didn't know we could afford emeralds that huge."

Her heart skips a beat. _Emerald?_

"14k gold too. Beautiful thing, but she just had it in her bag."

"Maybe she was on her way to pawn it. That might be some of the trouble between them right there. Finances."

"Probably wouldn't have that problem if he didn't blow however many grand for the necklace."

"They put that through evidence?"

"Think they left it with her, got it in a locker?"

"That doesn't sound----"

The server brings by their coffee. A phone rings and Tessa scrambles in her things before realizing it belongs to the men.

"Corbin." the one answers. "Yes. Really. Sounds like we have a good start here then. We'll head around for him now, pick him up for questioning. Haven't heard anything on Angel but we're looking out. Great. Let us know when you're back.That was Mills."

"She got good news?"

"Questioned Miss Parrish this morning, got some answers. Ask for a to go cup cause we're headed to pay Mr. Morales a visit. And Angel just moved up our list."

They talk and rise and leave before Tessa can even worry about it but her mind is reeling. Emerald Necklace. 14k gold. It could be any bauble, it could be any gem. She pays for the sandwich, leaves a tip, rises and shoulders her bag. Tessa's headed to the hospital. 

If there's a chance in hell it's one of the Legacy Necklaces, well, she's done despicable things before. What's one more.

* * *

 

The ensuing silence is even more tense than their previous drive up. But namely because the air is filled with a hurt. He's tried at least thrice, rising up out of the impermeable quiet to speak up and defend himself but she glares at him and snaps that she "Doesn't want to hear it" and cranks up the radio, even when they're between stations and all it produces is a noisy static crackle. She prefers that noise to the sound of his voice.

For her part, Abbie is trying furiously to connect dots, set up a order of business once they're back in town. First off, question Morales, see if he corroborates Caroline's story, it's too convenient that Orion happened to get hired for a theft just when he escapes----she'd bet money Morale's hired him for the job. She had previously told him Crane to cancel his next speaker and signing tour but with the surety she feels she's about to wrap this case, she already told Abe when they stopped for gas---although the literary agent had sounded decidedly distracted on the phone--- that he should line up everything to be back in order as usual. He'd told her blearily in the midst of it that he'd like her to stay around until they began shooting for the film, right there in Sleepy Hollow.

She'd told him she'd think about it.

Abbie's never 'thought about' whether or not she'd stay on a job for added safety. But she's never been so stirred up by a client like this before and she sincerely doesn't know how to be with him anymore.

Even in the midst of her calculating and planning the memory of his fingers and lips keep surfacing in her mind compounding with the fact that he has lied, lied, lied, that he is this wretched awful man.

He is a darling and adored by thousands, for his writing for his mind, for the charitable work he does but no one knows this man is just as selfish and flawed and damned horrible as the rest of them. She compromised for him.

She feels like a fool.

She let him, get under her skin, in her head, in her _bed_ , and she just wanted a moment to just be Abbie.

But you can't trust people who play on the other side of the line, Mills. People who think of themselves first. People like that rob shops and kill mothers.

People like that set up their sisters.

People like that pull the trigger on you and leave you for dead and swear up and down later they didn't mean it.

People like Ichabod Crane  hold you captive bringing screams to your lips with their own on your clit, and anchors you beneath him with his long deep smooth strokes and for a second makes you come apart and for the first time feel whole.

It's people like him.

That embody destruction.

Recklessness.

Is that what it takes to make you feel alive? Disaster?

Why does she keep attracting this brand of conniving into her life.

"You're just like the rest of them." she mutters at last, dismayed that her voice comes out small, broken. Tears start to her eyes and she can't take her hands off the wheel nor her eyes off the road but the damns open now and she can't stop. "I hate you." she manages as the sobs gain momentum, and she feels the emotions she struggles so hard to keep in check spiral out of control. " _I hate you_. I hate you. My God I **_hate_** you Ichabod Crane you've broken everything I stand for. You broke me. **_I hate you_**."

"Abbie," he reaches for her, now that she's speaking he wants to latch onto this and bridge the gap but he is equally afraid of the weight and venom and hurt in her words. He never wanted this. This is not whathe meant to do to her.

Well what did you mean to do, Crane. He asks himself. You've made yourself a million excuses over the years, but the charges stand. You are each one of the things she should be afraid of and with good cause. You have never had any business wanting more from her but you can't help it can you?

You can't help that you want to latch on and capture every single thing that shines for a moment with the illusion of what you don't have.

When you lose your family and everything you knew, in one tragic accident,you want all the glamours of what looks like happy. You want all the trappings of what you shouldn't have because there's a sharp reminder in your mind of things that people can't, won't ever have.

So yes he took the artefacts. Because his father was a scholar and had been studying ancient civilizations and relics for years. He was on route to give a lecture with his mother as passenger when they crashed.

Yes he went after Katrina. An odd rational that he battles with in his mind, because his mother had had red hair. His mother had carried that same sort of cool serenity. Whether that had hidden anything underlying for his mother too, he'l never known. But even as a grown man, his father's words, 'Find a good woman like your mother son' echoed way back in his mind. 

But he went after Abbie…..not for the things she reminded him of, but for the hope of things that could be.

What he's done in the past has been to recreate images he longs for through horrible means. But Abbie…..she was about forging impossibly ahead toward something new. Somehow where in the middle of his thoughts he actually began speaking, his voice rising to a shriek over her sobs and the car is a cacophony and she lays into the gas harder, speeding, speeding, as if she could out run the oil spill of toxic declarations and emotions running rampant in the confined space.

As if she thinks once she exits the car it'll all finally be over.

The blare of a car horn makes her tug sharply to the side, pulling over. They huff there, breathless. There are still tears in her eyes and she's still yelling, yelling, yelling, arguing that she isn't about to let him and all of the careless frivolous notions and fancies of his mind ruin her life. She's done with him, done, done, done.

He yells back, face red, veins straining in his throat that he can't take back the past. He can't, he can't, he can't, he's sorry.

How many _damn_ shades can you be of sorry, she demands. How many different ways can you be this bastard and still want people to forgive you? For how much? _Where does it end?_

Will you make everyone pay for their mistakes. He counters. For every wrong they make you will tally it against them?

Don't you dare try to make this about me. She cries. This is about you. You, it's always about you. You're self absorbed and always will be there can't be anything between us.

Maybe you'd be happier if you were selfish. Stop holding yourself and everyone to this impossible standard. We aren't all saints, we aren't all heroes, not even you----

She slaps him. Hard.

" _ **Fuck. You**_!" she screams, shaking, looking down at her hands in horror. She's assaulted a client. That's it. That's it Mills you're finished. He holds his cheek, and turns back to her with the trickle of blood leaking down his nose. " _Look what you made me do!"_ Her hands continue to shake but he reaches for them and she thrashes. "Let me go Crane I have nothing to lose now. Let me go before I commit murder."

"I'm not going to report you Abbie. I fully had that coming." he says calmly. "I earned that."

"Yeah, you did. Consider that for every person you screwed over that I don't know about." she pants, blinking furiously.

He barks a laugh, devoid of humour. "I deserve much more."

"Oh I'm going to make sure you get it." she promises, voice still shaky. "I'm taking a team into those Archives of yours when this is all over. Recover anything you can't provide legal papers for. Put them where they belong."

He nods solemnly.

"I kept telling you, you're a risk, and you kept trying to tell me you weren't. I let you in, Crane. I put so much on the line. I have _so much_ to lose. What do you have, huh? From what I've seen you're the man who keeps getting away withit. There aren't consequences for you. There are for me. You made me think for a second it could be worth it----but you have all the traits, all the characteristics of people who have hurt me, Crane. People who nearly cost me my life." she stresses. Her breathing finally calms. She manages to pull away and lean wearily on the wheel. "I've been fighting too damn hard to lose it all because of you."

"You've heard me plea my case before. There's nothing more for me to say here more than again, I'm sorry. It's what I did then, I can only ask you to have faith in my future, my tomorrows. That's all I have." He reaches for her hand again, and twines their fingers. She wants to fight but she feels weak after that confrontation and she needs a moment to regroup. He lifts he hands and stares at it wonderingly. Abbie regards him.

"What are you looking at"

"I have a ringing headache still and all at the fate of such small, perfect beautiful hands."

"Flattery is not going to heal anything here."

"I know. Abbie. I know."

"I'm sorry I hit you."

"Are you though?"

Abbie bites her lip and her lips twitch. "No. Not at all."

"I'm sorry I kept that from you. That whole thing with Morales and Hawley----"

Abbie blinks with confusion. "Hawley? Nicholas Hawley? movie star? I was supposed to be his security until your excitement began. How do you---damn you!" she punches his shoulder hard. He winces and clutches the new injury.

"Ow! what was _that_ for!"

"How do you know Hawley?"

He shrugs as if uncomfortable in his skin. "He wasn't…. _hollywood_ back then. More an adventurer, collector, like myself, like Morales, liked to explore. Hawley led the expedition. I was there for deciphering texts. Morales was the man who brought us together, love of the unknown. I don't know when or how he managed that career switch but---"his eyes go round and he goes silent. "Caroline said----"

"That Morales promised her an in with a celebrity. You stopped talking to them because you screwed them over, but have they been talking since? And I punched you because you couldn't _clue in_ that this mystery celeb was Hawley?"

"I was preoccupied with my childhood friend telling me she was prepared to sabotage my career to jump start hers."

"You mean you were shocked to find out there were other people just as self serving in the world as you."

Crane opens his mouth to retort but realizes she's right. "No lies detected there," he sighs. Abbie puts the car in gear and merges back into traffic.

"So, at some point, before you started writing, and Hawley became a star, you all went treasure hunting. You absconded with the loot, which presumably, you only found because Hawley was leading you. You profited from your betrayal. Launching a book series and ditching Morales from the effort. Inspiring now a film franchise, which," her eyes flit to and fro. "Hawley's been cast for it, hasn't he?"

"I….believe….so,"

"And you didn't think at any point that maybe things would be tense on set?"

"It was long ago." retorts. "I had no intention of being on set, anyway. I'm having very little do with the adaptation, I'm just writing the books, their source material. I approved a draft some weeks ago for the  script, but I largely haven't been involved in the production of it…..it's just something Abe latched on to, and it's a feather in his cap as my agent, I haven't cared much about it. "

"This movie is probably going to be a hit. It's going to make you a mint."

"Him too, if he's starring."

"But _you_ still benefit, don't you see? That's the last thing I would want from someone who double crossed me. To help them further succeed."

"Abbie are you trying to say-----"

"We might have a suspect for who's been trying to kill you, Crane. Motive too."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If Abbie's right someone is petty.... lol.
> 
> Well, we know why Tessa did it.   
> There's a running theme through out here, the desperation to connect and hold on to loved ones.  
> Caroline's pursuing her costuming career to find her mother.  
> Tessa's extreme measures to recover the last of their mother's legacy.   
> Crane trying to manifest remnants of his parents life in his own. He probably should see a therapist.   
> But Is Tessa really about to go to the hospital to rob. Again?
> 
> Where's Orion been hiding.


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Catch up with Tessa.

It shouldn't be this easy for Tessa to sneak into a hospital. But there she is in the scrubs hurrying in and out of where the lockers are, just down the hall from Cynthia's room. She'd glanced in, just to see for herself and had sharply reeled away noting that Frank, former boss and now leader of her witch hunt, was sitting bedside. The lock was too easy to pick. And the necklace----She'd had to stop herself from exclaiming at the sight of it.

This was it, here.

_Yes._

 Tears brim in her eyes. All those years. The run the fight the betrayal the last, final, gift from their mother, in her hands. Well, one of them. But that's more than she had ever hoped for. She considers wondering how the hell it made the journey to a jeweller into Frank's hands to gift his wife---but what the hell does that matter when she's wanted and committing theft? She's quick, just as quick as always closing the locker, leaving everything almost undisturbed. She grabs her bag and beginsheaded calmly towards the elevator, the necklace heavy in her pockets when she feels a hand on her back. She turns and stops because she's turned into something hard, pressing against her abdomen. Set aside the fact she's looking up into a pair of amber eyes. "Keep walking, Mills," he hisses. "let's go."

"How did you….."

"You like to overlook me, Jen--"

"Tessa." She counters. He chuckles darkly as he keeps moving her along, the gun pressed in her back. He's wearing scrubs like her and a sweeping coat. It's an unfortunate thing they both like to play dress up while they crook. And unfortunate thing that he might be better at it than her.

" _Tessa_. Charming."

"How did you know it was me," she grits out when they reach the elevator he presses the button and thennudges her forward when the empty car opens "I'll explain outside."

They hit the bottom floor without incident and he keeps marching her outside, as if the two of them are catching air on a lunch break.

"Cut the crap Angel you aren't clever. How'd you recognize me."

"Because I've been watching you, since you stole that manuscript, I've been tailing you. How you failed to notice well." he shrugs. "What can I say, you like to ignore me. Maybe it helps you cope with what you did to Abigail, to pretend I don't exist---" as he speaks he keeps steering her further and further away from the front of the hospital and towards the edge of the parking lot. It's creeping towards evening. It's quiet.

"As I was saying. I've been following you. And I saw you, the day you walked into Morale's home and walked out changed."

"Wait, how do you know his name."

"Well he's the one paying me for that delightful unfinished book you have there. That's what I've come to collect by the way, and I'll take whatever that is bulging in your pocket."

Tessa stiffens.

"No."

Orion cocks a brow and reaches for his gun again. "You're in the perfect place if you decide to be obstinate. They have doctors that can put you back together, no problem."

She shakes her head. "You can take everything else in that damn bag but you don't get this. I've worked hard for this. I've been through too much for this."

He waves the gun at her. "I like this angle. Do you?"

"You're an idiot to think you could do that here and not get caught."

He shrugs. "I shot a Mills girl before. She bounced back, I'm sure you'll do the same."

"Orion."

"Hand it over." he instructs, voice gone hard like steel.

Tessa hesitates. It hurts her, it twists like a knife to have this back in her hands so briefly only for it to be plucked straight from her grasp.

"While I'm young and not trigger happy, **_Tessa_**." he mocks.

She has her gun on her but she's not sure if she's a quick enough draw. He's watching her too close. He'll notice a reach. Gun still trained on her he draws closer and then, of course, reaches in her waistband frombehind and pulls her weapon. Both guns in hand he has her at a clearer disadvantage. "Now."

Gritting her teeth Tessa unearths the necklace she only just recovered and hands it grudgingly over to him. He whistles at the sight of it. "My my, what's this,"

"None of your business? Hmm yeah let's go with **_none of your damn business Angel_**."

He looks from the necklace to her with interest. "This?" he jingles it before her. "Is this the necklace you roped me into that heist for? That backfired and ruined my life? This? Well at long last I can see what the fuss is all about."

"It was made by our mother."

"One for the two of you?" he queries.

"One. Each."

A raised brow. "Guess they're probably worth more as a pair, hmm?"

Tessa shakes her head, lips tight. "I wouldn't know, that's not what it was about for me. It's what they mean."

Orion looks around, aghast "Are you trying to tell me you have feelings? _You_? Oh you make me laugh. You turned my world upside down for this, thing. A pretty sentimental bauble."

"If the life didn't suit you it wouldn't have been so easy for you to turn." She counters. "You had a criminal mind to begin with. You hardly blinked at the prospect of getting your hands on the money."

"You didn't exactly give me time, with the suggestion."

"You wanted that money Orion don't play dumb with me. All I ever wanted were those necklaces. I got nothing out of the deal but a wounded sister I couldn't face. I didn't even get the money. I had to get scarce after you pulled the trigger."

"I had plans, too. I can't help that your sister was always Miss Do Right."

"Hah. Plans?"

"Yes." he snaps. "She was supposed to walk away. We split the money. I wait a month, and propose."

" ** _Propose?_** With the damn ransom money you stole you were going to----you crazy as hell. You really are."

"Smarter than you though." he concludes, waving the guns at her feet. "The manuscript. Thanks for helping me out there. And I'm taking this necklace, as a souvenir, ** _Tessa_**. I'd say it was nice seeing you again but that's a lie."

Just like that, he leaves her there, disarmed, the bag of stolen goods for Hawley, well that was kind of him.

And the one thing she'd been after all these years, slipped through her fingers, gone.

* * *

 

Luke Morales is pulling into his driveway when he notices a car idling out in the street. He drives up and exits and then the driver and passenger exit, badges flashing and removing glasses. "Luke Morales?"

He swallows. "Yes---"

"Agent Corbin and Agent Brooks. We're taking you in for questioning."

Luke gapes. "For what?"

"We'll explain on the drive."

"I'm not going anywhere until you tell me what this is about."

"Caroline Parrish was very cooperative this morning." Is all Agent Corbin says and Luke's jaw sets tight as he gives a sharp nod and follows after.

* * *

 

They aren't amiable on the remainder of the drive but they are considerably less hostile and tense as she draws nearer she notes the barricade when they pull of the highway. She rolls down her windows when officer approach. "Agent Mills." she says, clipped, business like, Crane, faux blowing his nose to conceal his injury inclines his head. "My charge Ichabod Crane." Theyask for licence and badge and run the car plates. She's annoyed if not impressed that they're being so thorough and not just taking her word for it. But sure enough they wave her through.

"Someone up top is determined." she mutters as they drive in and Crane clears his throat.

"Abbie?"

She hesitates. "Yes?"

"About what I said earlier, about you sister…..is she"

"It's possible she's involved in some way." She admits. "In the theft, at least. I've never known her to be an assassin but then I'm not all that sure I've ever really known her anymore." She veers off the main road and Crane makes a garbled sound of surprise.

"Where are we headed?"

"Your cabin, for the time being. I'm watching you like a hawk. But I believe we're going to have you safe and sound sooner than later."

"Abbie."

"Don't ask me about us, Crane. That's not a conversation I'm ready for just yet." She pulls into the rough gravel space and locks off the car, digging for her phone as she does so she dials Abe to inform him they're back in town, then calls her men.

"Corbin?"

"You've got good timing. Just picked up Morales. You want in on questioning or should we?"

Abbie chews her lip and looks over at Crane, still dishevelled and his nose a little red. They'd have no reason to suspect she'd harmed him, she's fairly sure they'd believe her if she just said he's clumsy. Stop thinking like that, she scolds herself sharply. Telling convincing lies to your peers is not part of your skill set. That's not something you're supposed to practice or use. "I trust you Corbin. Any word on…..Mills."

A sigh. "It's like she vanished. I've no idea how she did it, there's been seldom anyone leaving town since we put the patrols out. No one has said anything. I believe she's still here but laying low."

Abbie nods. "Thank you. Keep me posted."

"Will do."

She hangs up the phone and turns toward Crane who is already unpacking his bag from the trunk and lugging it towards his home sweet home. "Don't get comfortable." she warns. "I don't think I'm letting you stay the night here. But your life has to carry on."

Crane peers curiously at the lock on his front door and backs away. Abbie scrunches her brow. "What." she strides quickly forward, "what is it"

"I think it's hissing."

"Your door is----shit" she yanks his arm and pulls, yanking him backwards, running into the forest. He drops his case and goes scrambling after her, his feet hit a root and it tangles as he goes pitching forward taking her down with him. They crash into the grass, rolling over panting. It's silent. Abbie curses to herself, overreacting again, but then----

 

Boom.

 

_The whole thing, wood chips and furniture and ash and scraps flutter down around them like confetti and the flames leap and dance toward the sky._


	23. Chapter 23

Abbie lies there heaving in the grass with Crane sprawled beside her. He stares up at the sky, his breath coming rapid and without thinking reaches to grasp her hand and she grips back, their fingers interlocking. For a moment they both try to tell themselves it isn't real. That they weren't almost just blown to smithereens. But there's smoke on the air, and debris still fluttering to the ground. They lie there a minute, five? before one of them gathers their wits to rise. Just so happens Abbie recovers from the shock first. She sits up, picking leaves out of her hair with her free hand, the other still bound in what borders on a death grip in Crane's hand. She glances down at him, lying still on his back and sees the stricken, broken look on his face. That's when it dawns on her. In it's entirety. In it's finality. 

That was his  _Home_. 

His memories, his dwelling. The place where he accrued his creature comforts. His refuge. His. Gone. 

_Boom_

And gone. 

"Crane," she tries softly, to rouse him from the sort of trance he's settled into. "Crane? Come on, we gotta get out of here. Call the fire department, find somewhere else to stay." 

He blinks a few times and turns his head towards her. Eyes tracking all over her face, up to the top of her head and down, as if taking inventory, making sure she's still whole. That she wasn't blasted through like what the remains of his life, too. He swallows and nods, sitting up with great effort and then leaning heavily on her shoulder. It's ridiculous when he's still so tall, even down on the ground, but she leans back. It was close for her too. 

"I'm sorry about your place Crane. You'll move on," she says with surety, a cold clinical sort of air she's had to adapt over the years when dealing with tough news. But she lets the human in her show for a minute and finds herself wiping a tear. "I just can't tell you how soon." 

He squeezes her hand and takes deep breaths. "Are you hurt?"

"I've survived worse," she jokes. 

She doesn't stop him when he turns and throws his other arm around her, hugging her tight. Burying his nose in her hair and then in the crook of her neck. He hangs on to her for dear life. Like he's afraid to let go. Like he knows that when he does, his reality will be ever more solid and true. "How do you do this" he asks into her hair. "How do you keep risking your life for people like me---what about your life. Are you never afraid for your life? Abbie," he pulls away, releasing her hand and cups her face. "What if you had been hurt?"

Abbie looks down at the grass. "That's not supposed to be your concern, Crane---"

"Well it is." he interrupts with such heat in his voice Abbie pauses. The remains of the cabin crackle ahead and they need to get moving but he's still got her face in his hands and he's hovering dangerously close. "I've done things. You've said as much, I have earned this ire in the grand scheme but not you, Abbie. You don't deserve a life like this. Serving others always but never yourself---I'm the last man who should ask but I'm going to keep asking until you let me or off me yourself. But let me care. Expect me to. Make demands of me Abbie and I will meet them and rise to them. Hold me accountable, and demand I be this vigilant about you. I don't have the gun, or the training. Just my flawed heart and my.....immoral past. But let me be concerned about you Abbie because damn it, I want you--"

"You hard of hearing, a slow learner? which  is it?" 

"If it's part of your job protecting me to lay your life on the line,  you're fired."

She raises a skeptic brow. "Excuse me?"

"We do this together. I help. Like Partners. From here on we both lay our lives on the line. Mine for yours. Yours for mine."

"Crane that's not how this works----"

Abbie should, smack him when he pulls her abruptly close and his mouth lands on hers. She should....she should....she should fight this, simply for the fact that she cannot fully trust him and she still doesn't. 

But when the lips are soft and warm and her own mouth traitorously opens beneath his and theres the absurdity of a burning building in the periphery and she's grateful she's alive, and that he is too, and bugger all of his declarations and her reservations it feels good, she's just a mortal at the end of the day and it feels good. 

In the midst of all of that her rationale tells her, this is not the time or place, shut this down, now.

But he pulls away and she stares at the blue in his eyes, feeling her heart rear and gallop she brushes herself off and begins to lead the way. He struggles and flounders but quickly catches up. Keeping pace beside her. 

It should be a simple matter of separating work from personal.

When he catches up his hand reaches for hers. She holds it for a second before remembering herself and pulls away.

But that's not how this works.

* * *

 

"We've got a leak." Agent Corbin frowns on his phone when he steps out into the hall. It's Brooks in there at the moment, grilling Morales.

"A what?"

"A leak. Someone knew we were headed back in today. And someone knew we were headed to the cabin, or suspected. It was rigged to explode."

"Are you guys alright?"

"Hah. Barely. I underestimated this. I got cocky. I need a haven Corbin. Anything you can find me?"

"Hold on, hold on, let me see what I can get for you."

"Thanks"

* * *

 

Abbie called the fire department and packed off Crane and drove. By some miracle, the car could still drive. She can't afford the risk of reporters and this making the news again. Their suspect is keeping fine tabs on them and thinks a step ahead.

"Do you really think it's one of yours?"

Abbie grunts as she drives, thinking first things first, she'd better ditch this car. They might be minding the licence plate for all she knows. Or you're being paranoid, part of her brain wheedles. Either way, if they'd hesitated a moment longer, their goose would have been cooked.

"I can't be sure anymore Crane, honestly. I'm going to have to confess to you now, that caught me off guard." she shakes herself and lets a gravelly laugh escape her throat. "For once I can't blame you for that. Just me being careless."

"For everything we've been through, Abbie, you have never, not once, been careless. Please stop looking for ways to tear yourself down at every juncture,"

She feels more words coming on, a comforting tirade, but instead he reaches over and rests a hand on her shoulder. It's heavy and solid and imbued with trust. When she chances to meet his eyes she can see just the clear, frank gaze of a man who believes in her. Trusts her, implicitly. "Thank you."

A gentle squeeze, and then he eases off, folding his hands back in his lap. They keep driving, heading toward the car rentals, there's one around here, she's sure. "Where is it,"

"What are you looking for?"

"Car rental, isn't it, ah. there's the street." She pulls up at the stop sign, counts one two three and continues on. In the silence Crane muses out loud.

"You told Abraham we were headed back into town today."

Abbie pauses in her thoughts but keeps driving, swinging easily into the rental. "I did." she concedes, mind whirring. "No. Why Crane? What would he have to gain?"

"He might have figured it out somehow, my betrayal."

"Four hours. I called him when we were leaving. That would be ample time, but does Abe have any affinity for explosives?"

"I do not believe so."

"Motive? Only if he found out you screwed his wife. And by the way he flew out of there to be at Cynthia's bedside, I don't think he'd be that affronted by it."

Crane grimaces, theory shot. Abbie chews her lip.

"I called the guys though. Unless it's one of them….." she trails off, her stomach churning. It could be there's an actual internal leak on her team. But is someone undermining her, or is her suspect good enough at his job to tap lines? And how would they have known to rig the cabin? unless they did it, what, 'just in case'?  "It doesn't add up." she huffs getting out of the car. "Even if someone gave your attacker a heads up we're headed back into town, how could they know we'd head to the cabin? I hadn't told Agent Corbin that."

"Then, we're being watched, Abbie."

"More closely than I thought." she grumbles striding up towards the door when a blond woman dodges in front of her. Her hand immediately goes for her firearm.

"Don't do it." the woman hisses. Abbie reels back. "Excuse me?"

"I don't trust that he hasn't been here already, come on."

"I'm sorry ma'am, I don't know what you're talking about. My friend and I here just want to rent a car, so if you'll excuse me." She moves to pass but the woman sidesteps, blocking her way, arms extended. Crane watches, perplexed by the woman's behaviour.

"Madam, we request you let us carry on about our day and plans."

The woman pauses, gaze flitting over to him and then back to Abbie. "You've got to trust me I'll explain." she reaches to grab Abbie's hand it sets her off. She's quick wrenching the woman's arm around even though she's taller and more lithe limbed and brings her to her knees easily. "Agent Mills and if you don't get it together you're under arrest."

"Damnit Abbie it's me."

Abbie keeps her grip firm. "Me, who."

The woman wrangles around in her grasp and tosses her head. " _Grace._ "

It shocks her but Abbie doesn't relent. Crane cocks his head, listening to the woman's voice. There's something about the timbre that sounds vaguely familiar.

"Who sent you" Abbie hisses, giving her a shake. "I'll haul you in and get them after."

"2010 at a dock hostage situation......Angel went rogue. It was the last time I saw you"

Time grinds to a halt.

"Lorelei Mills." the woman continues. "Went by Lori. Our father left us. It was just us three."

 _Our_ father.

Abbie takes a deep breath, maintaing her composure, willing her heart to stop galloping and anger and fear and confusion to stop waging war in her heart. _"Jenny?_ "

A pause.

"I go by Tessa now."


	24. Chapter 24

It takes a moment for the words to sink in, to register. Her grip slackens for a fraction before tightening abruptly again and Tessa lets out a hiss. "Prove it." Abbie demands.

"Didn't I just tell you everything?"

Abbie twists and gives her a jerk. "Con trick. Anyone can recite biographical details. How you would have gotten them I don't know and I don't care. If you're gonna claim to be my sister, I need proof."

"It's high day in a parking lot." Tessa growls. "You're making a scene." she grunts as Abbie applies more pressure.

"Proof, or I _snap_ your wrist," she threatens and she's surprised at malice in her own voice. Part of her can't quite believe this is happening, and another part of her is quite tempted to follow through with it if what this stranger is saying is true. "You gotta have ID, something."

"I've been burning through those over the years Abbie what proof do you need?"

"Don't get smart with me," she starts when Crane clears his throat. She glances up and notices that they have a small audience. A man and his wife getting into their new rental, looking over with interest. "I'm going to let you up. On your feet. Slowly. No sudden moves." she growls. "And don't think of running. I am authorized to shoot."

Tessa makes an exasperated sound and stands slowly hands out at her sides. "Not that I could harm you anyway. Orion already took my gun."

Now released Abbie backs away and looks her over, drinking her in. Hand resting gingerly on her holster, ready to draw. She can feel a presence at her back and so knows Crane has sidled up behind her, a gesture of support.

"Seriously Abbie? I'm good but I can't be this good. Look at me."

"My mama didn't birth no woman with grey eyes and blond hair."

"You're being willfully stubborn right now."

Abbie blinks in disbelief. "I know, that you, if you are who you say are and in the same breath claiming _not_ to be, are not trying to lecture me. Last I heard, I wasn't on any one's wanted list."

"Hitting Cynthia was an accident," she grunts hurriedly, ashamed. "Didn't mean it,"

"Same way I guess you didn't mean---"

"Abbie," Crane says quietly. "Should I go in for a car?"

Abbie's about to answer when Tessa cuts her off. "No, you shouldn't. Orion is slicker than a greased up pole. He's been tailing me. He cornered to me today and quite frankly I think he's got a screw loose, if not one more than he'd lost already."

Abbie glares at her. "You trying to tell me he has an in here?"

"I'm saying I wouldn't take any chances he doesn't know how to hack it."

"If he's been following you, you're not any safer, either, what are you calling yourself these days?"

"Tessa." she answers.

"Ichabod Crane." he gives a nod and Tessa smirks.

"Yeah I've been hearing your name plenty. Look," she turns back to Abbie. "You don't have any reasons to trust me, you're right. But takes a crook to beat a crook. And I think I can help." her sister narrows her eyes at her, steps up until they're a breath apart and tips her head back. It's amazing that after all these years, that even with Abbie being shorter but also her elder, this heavy weighted gaze makes Tessa feel especially small. She can feel herself shrinking.

"You damn right I have no reason, to trust a conniving, backstabbing, trifling, traitorous bitch, who left me to die while trying to make a payday."

"Abbie that's not---"

"You tell that to the damn scar I gotta carry with me for the rest of my life," she spits. "You tell me why I shouldn't take you in. One less criminal on the streets."

"I might be able to help you, that's all. I've been living like this for years. Takes a crook to beat one. Take me in after if you want."

Abbie reaches behind her back and withdraws her cuffs. Tessa's eyes widen.

"We do this my way," Abbie says. "Or not at all. Turn around."

Obediently Tessa does as asked, bringing her hands together behind her back and feels the metal clang around her wrists. "So tell me this, Agent Mills," she hisses. "What's next."

"Oh you're gonna talk. But you must take me for a damn fool if you think I'm gonna let you pull one on me again. No sister of mine." she pushes and Tessa begins marching forward, Crane following close behind.

"We should take a taxi." Tessa grumbles.

Abbie thinks it over. "You think Orion's clever enough to hack the car rental, and he's been following you. We know he likes to play make believe, so he could be anyone. We'd better walk."

"Walk? with me in cuffs, oh yeah that's not gonna look----"

"Miss, Tessa." Crane interrupts and both women looks over sharply. "I believe you are at a clear disadvantage, what with your hands being tied. Agent Mills is capable. You will follow her orders or be turned over to the proper authorities and dealt with. She does not make idle threats. Andif you make any further attempts to harm her you will have me to contend with." A foreign steely edge creeps into his tone that makes Abbie falter for a just minute. It's serious, low, a menacing sort of growl. Protective. "I do not make idle threats, either."

Tessa wrestles around a bit in her cuffs. "Fine. We walk."

"Crane." Abbie instructs. "Grab our bags."

* * *

 

It's Abraham's turn in the office now, to notice how quiet and still it is without his counterpart, colleague and at times adversary, but always a friend, always someone dear, dear, near to him, his heart. He tries to understand what she means by returning to the city with Frank, truly. Is she leaving the publishing house? her career, all of it behind? Or is she going to come back here, cold, distant from him and making him a coworker and nothing more.

He glances at her desk where he's waltzed in on countless occasions with her order for coffee and happily brandishing the work of a new author that she wouldn't get a chance to represent-----only to have to her inform him that she'd received dozen arcs of novels he'd requested and that he wouldn't have a chance to help market.

Day when she sauntered in on him pulled between work and home and invited him to go for lunch, drinks, clear his head.

There'd been late nights, heads knit together sharing the same copy of a book because they couldn't wait to borrow it from the other. Booking signing tours and some light arguing and quibbling if they double booked. Holiday parties where Frank stood her up and for a moment he came dangerously close to forgetting he'd come with his wife.

The first day he met Cynthia, when she came in with her head held high and a vibrant signature red pout, in a black pinstripe suit that fit too well---he'd be lying to claim he hadn't noticed her figure---and then she'd been so, put together, but warm, and sharp witted, and funny, he learned over the time they spent together. He looked forward to a day at work with her more than a night at home with his wife. He looked forward to her.

Now he glances at her things still carefully placed and he goes to sit in her chair and tries to imagine, forces himself to picture that she might not return here. Or if she does, depending on what sort of, hard work she intends to put in her marriage with Frank while still healing from her own injuries….that he would no longer be welcome to enter it as freely as before.

In the midst of this, his mind inevitably wanders back to Katrina, who'll be coming in tomorrow. He should be mentally preparing himself to be with her, help her heal. Get her the help she needs. But he's thinking of Cynthia and the warmth of her skin when he'd kissed her forehead. The smell of her hair. Things that for a moment seemed so desperately frighteningly close only to be firmly reminded, they are not his, they cannot be.

* * *

 

Cynthia rouses shortly before the nurse comes up to tell them they're taking her down for her X-ray. She groggily looks over at Frank. He reaches hishand over the bars to grip hers."Frank?"

"Right here baby. Right here." he lifts her hand to kiss it. "They're getting your ready to head down now. How you feeling?"

"I just want to go home,"

Frank looks at her carefully, glances back over at the bedside table where the flowers lie, and the card signed 'Love Abe' "Gonna get you home soon as possible." he assures her. "I promise. in fact I thought I'd nip out quick, go see if there's anything I can grab for you from the office?"

Cynthia scrunches her brow. "I mean if you want to box up my arcs and files. You're going to be there to read them to me, right?"

Frank pauses, about to give her the 'he'll do his best but you know how things are' job speech when she quickly cuts him off.

"I'm kidding Frank. I wouldn't ask that from you. I'd never expect it."

She's weary but the defeated tone of voice makes the words come out with a bite. He pauses, chewing his lip. Feels his phone going off. They always need him for something. Her gaze drifts over to him as they push her down the hall and then away, focused ahead as they push her out of sight.

"I'll stop by the office!" he calls.

By then nurse and Cynthia have already turned the corner out of sight.

* * *

 

"Where are we."

Tessa sighs heavily and grits her teeth. "Fredericks Manor,"

"And you know about here how."

"Because I had a moment to talk to my employer shortly after Orion robbed me."

"And you work for?" Abbie presses.

A grunt. "Nick Hawley. He's coming into town next week, he'll be staying here."

Crane and Abbie share a silent glance. It seems ill conceived to seek refuge in a place where the man who's probably out to murder Crane could be showing up, soon.

"I know there might be a connection to your case." Tessa cuts in, as if reading their thoughts. "I…..long story short, I came across evidence that Crane and Hawley share a past. Anyway, I did a job, just looting for Hawley, the way I usually do----"

"Ah" Abbie interrupts and nods toward the key pad. "You wanna tell me the combo for this first and you can finish story time inside?"

Tessa bristles at Abbie's tone and treatment she's getting as if they're strangers. As if she's a common underground outlaw---and she understands why, she does, she knows she deserves every bit of it, but it smarts more than she expected it to. Tessa rattles off the code and they step inside.

"Shouldn't be any staff here, he assured me. After Orion got me, I called Hawley to tell him I'd hit a snag .You saw the patrols out there, told him I can't get out of town, too much attention on me. Well he said I could crash here with his things till he got into town. Oh, well," Tessa cracks a grin at Crane. "I guess technically they're _your_ things." She nods to the bag slung over her shoulder. Crane's gaze is stony and unyielding. "Tough crowd."

Abbie shoves her forward and Tessa trips and staggers into a wall. "This his place? he owns it?"

"Rental as far as I know but I'm not in the habit of being too personal with my clients"

"You know we have reason to believe, he might be the one who wants Crane dead. Not going into details. But I'll say I'm uneasy about being here when he could possibly turn up at any minute."

"Well it's the only option you have right now. Probably Orion didn't try to follow us on foot, that at least I think we'd have noticed. And it gives you a chance to root around the place, if he's been here before, and if there's anything that helps make your case." Abbie chews her lip considering.

"Crane."

"Agent." he responds dutifully, sharply. She's of the impression he had a mind to salute.

"Go check the place out."

He begins to flounder but Abbie gives him a meaningful look to go away and he quickly decides to go explore the house. When he's gone Abbie removes the cuffs. Tessa exhales "Finally"

Abbie stuffs the cuffs back into her pocket and Tessa wriggles her fingers and massages her wrists, shaking them out gingerly. Abbie flexes her fingers, rolls her neck from one shoulder to the other, winding up her arm, practices a swing.

"I'm sorry Abbie,  Let me explain," Tessa starts speaking as she turns around to face her sister but is met with a sharp, hard, backhanded slap that whips her head to the side. Her head swinging one way, a leg sweep kicks her and she goes crashing to the floor, landing hard on her hip. She rolls in shock and ringing pain throughout the right side of her face, gasping with it before another swift kick lands in her side. "Abbie, wait," the room stops spinning long enough for her to see Abbie reaching down for her and she gathers her wits  to grab her shoulders and throw her over. She hears Abbie grunt with the impact of the fall as she staggers to her feet only to crash to the floor again when Abbie grabs her foot. Her chin hits the floor this time and stars burst before her eyes again when she feels her leg being wrenched up and around in an unnatural angle and she screams. "Let go! let go! Abbie are you out of your mind let go!"the pressure eases up and she gathers  momentum to spin around, using her other foot to kick Abbie off and scrabble to her feet again. She's ready this time when Abbie lunges for her, blocking blow for blow but underestimating Abbie's stature she swings of course, and Abbie ducks landing a chop in her back, a kick, a quick spin around and then jams her into the wall with a hand wrapped around her throat.

"Okay." Abbie coos. "You can talk. I'm all ears."

Tessa struggles, starting to feel light headed. A roar of frustration is her only warning before Abbie shakes her and knocks her head against the wall again.

"You stay awake and answer me Jenny."

"Tessa---" she counters and Abbie abruptly lets her go. She gasps for air and braces for another onslaught only to find Abbie has stalked into the kitchen.

Warily, Tessa follows.

Abbie is shrugging out of her jacket and getting a glass of water but points an accusatory finger in her direction. "You were fucking **_Jennifer Mills_** when you left me bleeding on a dock and you gone be **_fucking Jennifer Mills_** while I cuss your ass out."

"You weren't supposed to get shot." her sister replies hurriedly. "That wasn't part of the deal, never was. It was just the money. I was trying to get the necklaces."

Abbie pauses after she drains the glass, giving Tessa a withering glance she chances a glance in the fridge, and behold, it's been stocked in advance of Hawley's arrival. There's beer. She grabs one, takes her time opening it, taking a long swig. Tessa keeps talking. About how the plan went wrong. How all she had wanted was to recover their mother's legacy. How she was planning to return one to her and then disappear for a bit, and maybe one day return and find a way to heal if Abbie would allow it.

It's against the rules, the policy, you name it for her to be drinking on the job but Abbie's been breaking a number of those rules at an impressive rate. She finishes draining the beer, feels a slight head rush but holds steady. Listening to all of Tessa's words. When she finishes there's silence and Abbie leans on the counter, regarding her sister.

The silence is so thick and tense Tessa wonders if Abbie had even been listening. "Abbie I'm sor---"

The resounding crash of shattering glass disrupts the quiet as Abbie breaks the bottle over the counter and comes charging at her with it.

"Abbie!" she yells, dashing out of the kitchen, back out into the hall where Crane comes running down the stairs.

"Abbie!" he calls in alarm and Tessa collides with him and then trips over the bags in the foyer. Abbie comes out with speed and Crane is so shocked by the unhinged image of her he retreats to the opposite wall and Tessa kicks the bags in Abbie's way as she backs up, getting back up to her feet.

"My life." Abbie growls. "Hold her Crane."

Terrified he grabs hold of Tessa who hits out at him and makes for the door before she hears a familiar click.

Tessa pauses and turns over her shoulder, her eyes round with disbelief. Abbie holds gun in one hand trained on her, broken bottle in the other. "Get back over to that wall." she commands.

"Abbie---" Tessa pleads.

"I said wall, _Jenny._ "

She goes, hands up in the air to where she was before.

"Crane." Abbie gestures with the gun. "Hold her." He reaches for Tessa again, pinning her hands behind her back. The house is quiet save for their heaving breaths.

"My life." Abbie continues to mutter as she advances and stops at her bag, unzipping carefully and removing the Legacy Necklace. "My _life!_ " She repeats  incredulously.

Abbie holsters her gun and approaches, necklace in one hand, bottle in the other. "For this?" Abbie screeches. " ** _This_**? is this what you nearly got me killed for? Is this it Jenny? Is this it Jennifer **_fucking_** Mills that was worth my life?" her voice rises in pitch, anger strangling it into a monstrous shriek. She thrusts the jagged edges of the bottle beneath her jaw. "Is this what you wanted? Jenny? Was this all worth it, to almost destroy my career and end my life but none of that would have mattered right? You want this so much? You can, here" she lowers the bottle to the ground and with her hands free struggles and wrestles Jenny's mouth open and crams the sizeable stone in. "you can have it" she grunts.

 Crane holds Tessa still while she struggles. Even knowing that there's something going on here that is distinctly dangerous and wrong he doesn't dare argue and frankly if this is the woman who betrayed her own sister over a matter so material, this punishment seems fitting. But he's still unprepared when Abbie reaches for the bottle again and then lightening quick viciously lashes out and slices Tessa's arm.

She screams.

Abbie tosses the bottle and let's what remains of it skitter and splinter across the floor. Nostrils flared and eyes brimming Abbie leans in.

"You're _lucky_ it wasn't life threatening"

And then, shaking herself out calmly walks away.

"Abbie?" Crane starts.

"Let her go. Give her a bandage. I'm taking a bath."


	25. Chapter 25

Abe is just starting to pack her files in a box, her most recent arcs, her pens, etcwhen he hears foot steps round the corner and he looks up to see Frank Irving looming there. At the sight of him Frank rolls his eyes, doubles back to read the name on the door and then strides in, chuckling darkly to himself until he's at the desk. "That sign out there says Cynthia Irving."

Abe eyes him steadily"Yes."

"What the hell are you doing in my wife's office."

Quirking a brow Abe works his mouth and carries on packing.

"Van Brunt---"

Bending down he pulls open a drawer and grabs the folders within and speaks calmly while he does so. " _Irving,_ " he counters. "I don't think I've ever even seen you in this office. I spend more time here than you ever have. I come and go, dropping things off, picking them up from Cynn, and vice versa. Lunch and so forth."

"I came for her things."

Another pointed glance in his direction. "Well, you can wait out in reception." Abe says coolly. "I know my way around here better, I'll save you some time."

"I think I can manage a few books, don't trouble yourself, you can leave."

"I said," Abe replies. " _I've_ got it handled, here. You're a hard working man, I'm sure you don't need the tedium of such a chore---"

"It's for my wife,"

"Funny how you remember that now."

"What's that supposed to mean."

He's answered by Abe's studious and deliberate silence. Frank cracks his neck. "I saw the flowers you sent."

"I didn't see yours." Abe retorts.

"And I saw your card,"

"Meant every single word of it."

Frank laughs again, "Unbelievable. _Every_ word, Van Brunt? You sure?"

Dropping the items in hand in the box with a thud he rises to his feet, places his hands on the table and leans towards Frank. "I meant. Every. Single, _every single_ , word, in that card."

"You listen here---"

"No, you listen. She's going to need someone to help her, be there for her. Give her the support and love she needs----"

"I think I know what a marriage calls for---"

"----Oh, pardon me. I thought you were the other man that cancels on her last minute and were separated up until---"

"I've told you once I'm saying it again what goes onbetween my wife and I is none of your business. Mind your own marriage, hmm? Do you spend half this much time worrying and doting over her? She must be thrilled about your over investment in your coworker's health---"

"Cynthia is much, much more to me than a co-worker."

And there it is, Frank thinks venomously. There's the glimmer he's been waiting for. "More? how much _more_?" he taunts.

"An equal, a peer, a confidant someone that I---"he stops himself abruptly flinging his arms in the air. "You know what? You wanna pack her things? _pack them_. You don't know a hell about what she'll want but by all means knock yourself out. I don't need this," he grumbles marching around from behind the desk but Frank feels quarrelsome.

"Someone that you what, Van Brunt? Someone that you aspire to be? admire? covet?"

Abe whirls around, leading with his fist and he doesn't care to second guess until it connects. "I do not _covet_ , Cynthia. I do not lust after her, and I am not jealous of the man who doesn't do right by her. Not worth my energy.  She's more than that. You're supposed to know that."

"Don't talk like you know my wife----" Frank surges back at him and lands hard in his jaw. 

"I do know her." Abe roars. "Better than you, **_more_** than you."

"And what can you do with it" Frank snaps back . "Your hands are tied. It doesn't matter what you know because you're not free to make any use of it."

"She deserves better. Someone will give her that, Mr. Irving. But it's not you."

* * *

 

She's nursing a beer at the table when Abbie finally comes back down for her bag. Turning the necklace over and over in her hand. Crane bandaged her up after, as ordered, after pulling the emerald out of her mouth by the chain, dropped it in her hand with disgust while he silently dressed the wound that throbs even now. She's been sitting here, looking at it from all the angles, trying to compare it to the one she lost to Orion earlier today. Curious how Abbie found it in her possession after all these years. To think if she hadn't gotten caught off guard by Angel, both of them would be recovered now. One for her, one for Abbie.

But what does it matter really. It wouldn't heal the sizeable rift between her and her sister. And certainly wasn't going to ensure the fresh wound wouldn't scar deeper than the vengeful cut. "Come to finish me off," She drawls from the table. When there's no answer she glances over her shoulder at the hall way, half expecting Abbie to be charging at her again, but instead Abbie merely glares at her as she zips and rights her bag.

"What are you still doing here."

"I meant it when I said I would try to help. Even if you decided to attempt murder in the process----you're a few screws loose yourself these days aren't you, I don't remember you being this quick tempered."

"You're kidding me right."

"Damn it Abbie of course I'm kidding you." She closes the emerald in a fist and rises from the chair. "I had that coming. Every last bit of it. I'm not, I can't be mad at you for it. Hell if you'd gone one step further and aimed for my throat I shouldn't have been surprised. What I did to you." She looks down at her hand, where the gold chain dangles before offering it to Abbie again, uncurling her fingers. "It wasn't worth it, not for this, not for anything. I've been a crap sister to you."

Abbie shakes her head in bitter amusement. "I'd say that's a bit of an understatement." She strides forward and retrieves the jewel. "At least you knew I planned to beat the hell out of you."

"Before or _after_ you back handed me with no warning?"

Abbie surprises herself with laughing and then running a hand through her hair. "What I don't get Jenny----is why the hell would you go through Orion, rather than me?"

"Have you met yourself." She replies, tone just shy of disgust. "You're so straight laced any tighter you'd be your own strait jacket. It wouldn't have flown with you, you know it wouldn't have. What you gonna try to tell me we all could have been on it? A family caper? And then, oh bet you didn't know this part, middle of Orion holding me at gun point today, he tells me, if it hadn't gone sour? He was gonna propose to you." She snickers, a wild unhinged sound. "You could have been Abbie Angel! Eh? that's got a cute ring to it, doesn't it?"

"How much you had to drink"

"Second beer, and don't think of cutting me off. The buzz is keeping my mind off the fact that you pointed a gun at my head today."

"You didn't deserve it?"

"I set up the bad deal Abbie but I never pulled a weapon on you in my life, remember that," she bites out, voice quaking at the end with the hurt of it. "I've stared down a barrel before, but, it's a unique experience, you know? having your own blood do it."

Anger flares up within her. "You're not going to make me feel guilty for that Jenny. Not after the amount of guilt you've heaped on my head for years about mama, you don't get to do it now----"

"I wasn't asking for your pity or trying to guilt you. Geez you're defensive." she grunts. She jams her hands in her pockets instead. "I mean. It gave me perspective, how much that hurt you, that I drove you to that. I knew I'd done a scum bag thing then. But I couldn't fathom the depth of it, the hurt and pain, that must have caused you. The betrayal. I got a taste of it today and hell at least I knew we were fighting. You didn't see it coming. You didn't have a chance. And damn, you might not have been so lucky. I put you through that. all for, for that." She glances at the necklace that Abbie is now looking at carefully in her palm. "I blamed you for loosing her and then I got desperate for anything to hold on to. The last thing meant for us." She brushes blond strands out of her eyes and huffs. "I should have held on to you, my sister, my blood. Instead of a cold pretty stone. I should've done better. I won't ask you to forgive me. Just hear that….I know I wronged you. I'm sorry Abbie. I'm, I'm so fucking sorry." when she's finished she swipes at the tear making a trail down her cheek and catches Abbie doing the same. The sisters notice and share a light, fragile laugh.

"There another one in the fridge?" Abbie asks. She nods. "Good cause I could use another."

* * *

 

"You trying to tell me you ran the woman down and went to the hospital to rob her?" Abbie huffs her disbelief. "You're a real piece of work". Tessa chuckles and throws her head back.

"God I really do sound like trash don't I?"

Crane wrinkles his nose in distaste, having meandered into the kitchen for food. He takes a spot beside Abbie, working silently on the makings of a sandwich.

"Well that says it all," Tessa crows. "I disgust the man."

"Jenny, finish."

Her sister shrugs. "It shouldn't surprise you that if there was a chance it was one of mama's necklaces, I was gonna go after it. Had it in my hands too, and boom, there's Angel. Held me at gun point and walked me out of the hospital, disarmed me---"

"Disarmed you?"

"Look I'm allowed to be caught off guard. I was still kinda buzzed about having the necklace---I've only been hunting it down and risking everything for it forever---- back and…..he got me. What can I say."

Abbie considers it where it rests in the middle of the table between them now. She tries to imagine seeing them as a pair. She has only memory to rely on for that. One glimpse the night Lori had set out the display. "It was that close huh." is all she says. Caught up in wonder of the prospect that yes, these two emblems of motherly love could have been reunited, the same night that two sisters were, although to call their reunion joyous would be a stretch. Her sister bites her lips together and nods solemnly.

"Yeah. That close."

Crane's eyes dart between the women as he cut's his sandwich, a long loaf filled with ham and cheese and lettuce and cuts it in thirds. He pushes a platetowards each of them before he takes a seat and bite.

Abbie looks at him gratefully and he gives her a small fleeting smile in return. Sighing Abbie turns back to her sister. "Alright. You said you figured you could help. How."

"Well first off, if Hawley is out to kill Crane, we've got the drop on him, so to speak. Why would he want you dead, by the way?" she queries.

Abbie crooks her finger as a gesture for Tessa to come closer. When she leans in Abbie whispers in an excited conspiratorial voice. "You know how you were a selfish bitch? well he was a selfish bastard." Beside her Crane's ears turn pink and Tessa cuts her eye at Abbie before chuckling to herself.

"Fair."

Abbie shrugs. "Facts. Anyway why would you turn against a man that's been paying you well for so long."

Tessa chews the inside of her cheek before she excuses herself from the table and returns with a photograph. She slides it across the table to them. "I was filched your manuscript, by the way," she confesses, like an after thought.

"You're nothing if not thorough." Crane sniffs, drawing the photo closer and inhaling sharply. "Where did you get this?"

"Pit stop at Morales---listen I don't have time for that. But I grabbed the photo because it has in Hawley, obviously, and I've been hearing your name like crazy, so damn, hold on. She scrunches her eyes and slips out the contacts, revealing their true brown. "They've been itching me for a minute, that's better. I haven't had a chance to investigate it proper, but after running into Angel, I decided to do a little online search. That and he sounded, well, odd the other day on the phone. Something about collecting being in his blood."

Abbie scrunches her brow. "And?"

"It never occurred to me, back then, that the man I was out to buy the necklaces from, might have been the one who stole them. But he had a motto. Collecting being in his blood. Anyway I was doing a search at the coffee shop when I saw you guys at the rental. Looked Nick up. Used to go by Nevins. Nicholas Nevins."

Abbie waits patiently for her to elaborate. "Atticus Nevins was who I planned to---"

"Atticus." Abbie repeats numbly. The name rings a bell, triggers her brain.

* * *

 

"Got my rocks Atticus?"

"Got all your gems Lori. What you making with these?"

"Crafting a legacy."

* * *

 

"I don't think Nick had anything to do with the robbery. But I'm fairly sure they're related. Or were. To be honest it's been years since I've heard the name Nevins."

"Hawley was  into trade and, discovering, at the time when I met him. But he was already going by Hawley then." Crane offers, brow furrowed.

Tessa shrugs. "Distancing himself from Nevins, probably. Couldn't tell you if it's his father or uncle or whatever. But from what I could find, came from humble beginnings. And I'm saying humble because desolate sounds too harsh."

"Slow down, so what does this mean?"

"His mom was an addict at some point. Had a sister too, younger, who,according to internet, she was taken away by social services. He was born here in Sleepy Hollow, so come to think of it, maybe he does own the place," Tessa glances around.

"Delivery man that always dropped things off at the shop…..name was Atticus."

Tessa kicks back. "Could be that somehow we've come full circle."

"Do we know anything about the sister?" Abbie asks, digging out her phone and tapping into her cellular network. Tessa shakes her head. "Nothing I could find".

Crane chimes suddenly. "He mentioned his mother was in design."

Abbie cocks her head to the side. "What."

"I recall, we were having a discussion, one item we uncovered was an ancient breast plate and he'd mentioned what a kick his mother would have gotten out of it, she had such a keen eye for design and creating. I believe he said she wanted to go into costuming but the drugs…..at the time he mentioned she was ill, needed care, direly. None of us were 'successful' then as we are today….." he trails off, brows knit again.

"I get the feeling we're tiptoeing around something." Abbie mutters rubbing her temples.

Tessa yawns loudly. "Let's turn in, we can come at it fresh in the morning."

"Do you agree, Abbie?"

"I don't like it but we'd better." she concedes. Crane clears the dishes, rests a hand on her shoulder and then leaves the room. When he's gone Tessa nods after him.

"So what's the deal there."

"Hmm"

"Don't hmm me. That's gone beyond duty, hasn't it?"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Sure you don't." Tessa pushes back from the table and saunters out to the hall. "Just try and keep it down. He crosses me as they type that hollers."

"He's chatty but he doesn't holler." Abbie answers mindlessly and then pauses, mouth in an o of shock and eyes round as she looks over her shoulder at her Tessa grinning wickedly at her.

"I knew it." Tessa taunts. "Well good for you. Less slimy than Angel. G'night."

* * *

 

A knock comes at the door as he changes for bed. "Hello?" Crane calls warily.

"It's me." Abbie answers, pushing on the door. He turns to face her and Abbie glances quickly around the room. "How you holding up?"

He plunks down on the bed, hands clasped loosely between his knees. "I should ask you the same thing." he says softly, cautiously. "More than anything, today has been a trial for you, Abbie. Reuniting with your sister, finding out….well, everything that you have. This whole ordeal, Abbie it's…..it must overwhelm you."

"You know I don't have that luxury Crane."

Ichabod looks her over skeptically. "Lest we forget you wielded a broken bottle today like a mad woman I don't mind saying. You weren't wrong, but it was terrifying."

She chuckles. "You saying I scared you?"

"To put it mildly."

Abbie saunters in. "Well good. You should be scared of me. Maybe I should make a point of scaring people more. They wouldn't mess with me."

"I highly doubt anyone of a sound mind would willfully _mess_ with you, but I assure you after that display this afternoon I am sufficiently deterred from encountering your bad side."

"Clocking you one earlier wasn't enough of a deterrent" she wonders as she draws nearer to him. He studies her as she grows closer, wiling himself to remember she was rightfully angry with him earlier and is dangerous when of a temper, but he finds his eyes lingering on the dip of her waist and the flare out to her thighs. Remembering with relish and warmth coursing beneath his skin how warm and silken and tight she had been. How strong and gorgeous the hue of her legs when they'd wrapped around him. "I believe you said yourself earlier I'm a slow learner."

"How slow."

"Woefully so, very,"

"I still think you're a bad idea."

He bobs his head agreeably.

"I still don't entirely trust you, and I promise, I still hate you in many ways."

He dares hope. "And in others?"

"In others I still want you," she confesses, voice hard and irritated. "That's definitely one reason I still hate you. I've never….never, crossed as many lines as I have with you. Never considered it. It frightens me, the abandon I've had since meeting you. Scares the daylights out of me. Makes me feel less grounded less sure---like I might be stupid enough to feel for you. And that's so far off base, so the very last thing I should entertain. But here I am, anyway."

"I'm glad you're here. If even only to talk."

"I'm done playing by rules." she says solemnly. "They….the world doesn't play by them. I've had more hurt walking straight and narrow. And I have hurt, deeply these past few days…..but it felt like living. Felt like the world stopped being sharp pristine cold and grey." she meets his gaze. "I'll thank you for that, if nothing else." She reaches to touch his face and cracks the smallest smile. "You know, up close, now I really _am_ sorry I hit you." she jokes as she removes her hand and goes back out the room. He rises to his feet and watches her retreat to her room down the hall.

The door that she leaves ajar.

Like an invitation.


	26. Chapter 26

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I had every intention of writing plot here.  
> But this happened? this extended scene?  
> it went left guys, apologies if it makes no sense whatsoever. 
> 
> But shout out to Neicy for being so supportive and to Fantasy of Mine's AMPD for making me kinda bold in trying out something..... yikes. well here goes!
> 
> Leave a comment please!.

Cautiously, slowly, he pads down the hall, pushes on the door only to have her hand wrap abruptly in her collar and to be wrenched completely off his feet and thrown towards the bed. He lands with a shout of surprise before she kicks the door shut behind her, smiling triumphantly down at him.

He swallows. "I….I….." he stammers.

"I…I…." she mimics and folds her arms. His face flushes.

"I noticed you left the door, half open, and….."

"And what, Crane?" she asks, brow raised, hip cocked. It takes him a moment to realize she's already stepped out of her jeans and that the tone of her voice is vaguely teasing.

"I am poor, at boundaries." he says dumbly, mouth going dry as he gazes at her legs.

"That is kind of why you got that little bruise," she says. "Right there. Cause you have an uncanny gift for overstepping."

"I won't do it again, I assure you…..I….I would take a thousand beatings to right my wrongs against you."

She leans off the door and prowls towards him. "I get the distinct impression, Ichabod Crane, that you would like that."

He doesn't try to argue it. He'd been confusingly excited at Abbie's actions earlier. Her strength and her savagery laced with just that hint of unbridled cruelty, the hard commanding edge of her voice, had made him feel a little afraid but also direly obedient. It was unexpectedly thrilling.

Abbie cocks her brow assessing. "You would, wouldn't you. You like it when I get like this with you, is that it?"

He licks his lips and waits patiently for her ire to flare, for her voice to rise. He doesn't like causing her pain but he does like the tension that stretches taut between them right now. He likes that he's not entirely sure which way this will go.

"I deserve everything coming to me." he says, bowing his head. "If you see fit that I should suffer another blow---"

"You do like it." she says, her voice a small spark of disbelief. "You're into that----"

"I'm into _you_ , Abbie." he corrects. "I don't like making you angry, I could never enjoy that. And as much as your commanding facade irks me to no end, because it's always concealing some part of you……I cannot help that you're very, live, when you're in charge. Sure. Vital." he lifts his head and holds her gaze. "I…..I like when you're rough with me." he confesses and waits for her reaction.

Her face softens. "How rough."

"I've been bad." he says, earnest now. "I….could you…."

She approaches and gently rests her palm on his face, looking into his eyes. "It's not fair your eyes are so pretty." she whispers and gives him a light tap. He inhales sharply.

"Harder."

"What?"

He turns his face invitingly, offering his other cheek.

"I don't want to hurt you, Crane." she says, voice gone tender and small, in wonder of his reaction. She doesn't expect it to, but she does feel sort of warm and touched at him offering himself to her this way. She takes in how his eyes darken and his nostrils flare. "And I could." she tells him. "Believe me I really could. I'm…..I'm not sure about this. It's a leap. It's one hell of a big leap."

"I trust you."

"Crane---"

"You've been saving my life." he cuts in, hand lancing out quick he grabs her wrist and tugs her close. "I trust you with my body. Hurt me a little, Abbie. I know you could make it feel good."

Abbie pauses.

"Unless I've misread." he says hurriedly, blinking and sitting back, shocked, ashamed of himself. "I thought what you said, over there----"

"I meant it." She says. "I left the door open, didn't I. I want this." she says, gesturing between them. "But what you're asking me for, just isn't what I expected."

He nods his understanding. "Breaking more rules, over stepping more boundaries, aren't I, I'm, I'm sorry Abbie, I was----"

"Just tell me when enough is enough." she says, glancing toward the cuffs in her discarded jeans. She bites her lip and then releases it, looking up at him through her lashes. "I don't want you to bruise."

* * *

 

His eyes had barely lit up with joy at the prospect before she grabbed a fistful of his hair and yanked his head back, baring his throat. She grazed him with her teeth and then latched on to his skin, he thrills at the feeling of her plush lips and the sensation of her sucking a mark there. Branding him. When she pulls back she tugs him forward and delivers a sharp open palmed slap to the other side of his face, dazing him with shock.

"Hands behind your back." She orders as she gets her cuffs. He responds quickly, eagerly and tries to keep his breathing calm as she clambers on the bed behind him and he feels them click into place. She remains on her knees behind him and leans heavily on him, he can feel the warmth of her thighs and her behind his head and her fingers running through his hair before she grips it again. "You're a selfish, spoiled, brat, Ichabod Crane."

His adams apple bobs as he swallows. "yes," he gasps. "Yes I am."

"Do you need a lesson in giving? in sharing?"

"Yes, yes---"

"Call me Agent."

"Yes Agent."

She looks down at him and drops a kiss on his forehead, her hair hangs over her shoulder like a curtain around them. "Call me Agent Adorable." she amends, the briefest smile flickering across her lips. He smiles briefly back, his eyes beaming at her.

"Agent Adorable, Abbie Mills."

"I'm gonna take care of you." she assures, leaning back she runs her hands down his chest, stroking up and down aggressively, feeling for him through his night shirt she begins working the buttons free until her hands are roaming on skin and she can feel him shivering at her touch. "I'm gonna make you remember," she promises, "Not to ever keep things from me again. Not to ever be self absorbed, again." She bites his neck and his shoulder before moving off from the bed and walking around to stand in front of him. "Roll over" she instructs and he stands awkwardly before throwing himself forward on the bed. She straddles him from behind and leans down to his ear. "Remember when I pinned you like this at the cottage" she breathes, running her tongue along the shell of his ear. He groans and nods. She shakes him. "Answer me when I speak, Crane. Do you remember?"

"Yes. Agent Adorable, yes."

"Did you like it," she purrs. "Even then? were you turned on that I could over power you"

"You know I was," he pants and Abbie tugs his hair sharply. Not enough to hurt, but enough for a reprimand.

"Don't sass me,"she grits out.

"Yes. Yes Agent I was."

"What did you want me to do to you."

His face flushes. He'd had a fleeting fantasy at the moment and that had evaporated almost immediately when she had released him.

"Speak" she hisses and he grunts with her weight on his back.

"I wanted you to touch me," he grinds out.

She leans forward, petting his hair. "Where," he flusters and wriggles beneath her. She thinks to admonish him again for his silence but then notes that if talkative chatter box Ichabod Crane was having difficulty with words he must be embarrassed. She runs her hands along his arms. "Here?" she asks.

"No."

She moves to his shoulder, massaging between the blades, down his back, she presses her lips to the back of his neck. "Here,"

"Lower," he manages. Abbie looks down, perplexed and then behind her and so rests a palm on his behind. He nods furiously into the mattress.

"This neat little thing?" she taunts. He makes a choked off sound that might be a laugh and she giveshim a light squeeze. "Do you need a spanking," she coos.

"Please,"

A beat of silence as she moves off of him, "How are you arms," she asks.

"Fine," he spits hurriedly as they wrangle around to remove his trousers and he spins back around immediately, posturing before her.

"Whats the word," she asks, pulling down his garments and revealing his bare backside.

"Word?"

"If you can't deal, Crane, what's the word."

He can't think, really, he's flooded with so many emotions, a glimmer of excitement about what's about to come, an exhilarating anticipation of something new, a heavy wanting to be touched, to be handled, and then to be soothed, and she's so alluring. She's completely in charge and she could really decide to harm him but she's being so sweet, checking in on him and its entirely distracting that she can be both. It's a wonderful beautiful reality that she can be both strong and caring, even in this and he's overwhelmed by it, he just want's her to----

"You're not getting anything until you give me a word,"

"Treasure," he croaks.

She balks at that. It's not….typical. "Treasure," she agrees. "Ready?"

"Yes----oh God!" he yelps when the first smack lands.

"Say thank you, Agent"

"Thank---!" his words cut off when another finds its mark. Then another. Another. It stings, it burns, tears leak from his eyes but with each one she rubs a hand soothingly over the spot. She delivers three more, they keep landing harder and Abbie has a lot of muscle in her frame, a lot of power, she starts to wonder if he's never going to call uncle and when he doesn't she stops herself. He is red and his skin is humming and he's been struggling not to scream out with the new perplexing mixture of pain and pleasure that comes with it when he realizes she's stopped. "Agent?"

She reaches forward and undoes the cuffs. He lays there a moment, confused, as she removes them and she tells him, "Move." he stretches his hands, flexing his fingers.

"Agent? may, may I speak?"

"Grab a pillow."

"Hmm?"

He howls when her hand lands on his tender rear, but it felt so good all the same. "Don't hmm me either" she snaps.

"Agent! Agent! thank you Agent!"

"Grab a pillow." she repeats. "Gives you something to hold. You alright?"

"I wish you hadn't stopped, it….it was very good, Agent."

"I didn't say I was done." she takes a moment to whip her shirt over head."I was giving you a breather. Now, Remember the word?"

"Yes Agent."

She smiles and gives him a pinch. "Good boy."

"Yes, yes I'm a very good boy, a very very---VERY!" he cries out and he's grateful for something to grip, to bite down into to muffle his screams.

"Good boys don't, lie," she pants. "Good boys, don't, steal,"

"No, no, no, no, Agent, no,"

"Have lied? have you cheated?"

"Yes, Agent, Yes"

"Then, you're, a bad boy,"

"Yes Agent, bad, very, _very_ , bad,"

"You're a very naughty boy,"

"So naughty Agent, I'm so very naughty."

"A naughty, bad, filthy boy"

"I am so filthy Agent. So filthy."

Abbie's let's loose and it feels goods, he's shouts always come with a "thank you," he gasps enthusiastically for more and she reprimands him for speaking out of turn. She's could lose herself in it, it's been so long since she was able to be this way, so long since she could show this side of herself to someone. "Do you know what happens to naughty boys, Crane," she purrs. "Do you want to know? Naughty boys, get cuffed to the bed. Naughty boys, have to look, but can't touch. Naughty boys," She pauses, probes a finger between his cheeks. His eyes blink open alertly, awakened to the possibility of something he'd never considered he wanted but now thinks he does. If it its her. Only if its her. He makes a sound of approval and Abbie considers him, withdrawing her hand. "Naughty boys get that too," she says, "But we'll warm up to it." He whines.

"Drop the pillow. Roll over." He unfurls himself and gingery turns over on his back.

"Is my naughty boy sore?"

"Deliciously so, Agent," he groans. She motions for him to move up the bed until he hits the head board before she crawls on the bed and up his body.

"Naughty boys," she reiterates. " Look, but can't touch" Straddling him, Crane has a clear view of her. The swell of breasts over the cup of her bra, down to her toned stomach and lower to the dark panties he wants to rip off with his teeth. She shifts closer, nestling herself, cruelly, deliberately against his naked erection, but she doesn't touch him, no, she rocks against him and he grits his teeth with the sensation of nothing more between then than the scrap of fabric. And to add to his torment she reaches up and unclasps her bra. She fondles them while he watches, struggling to keep his hands at his sides. She tweaks her nipples and throws her head back, arching into her own hands. "Watch." she commands. Not that he needs encouraging. "Naughty boys, need to know when to keep their hands to themselves, no matter what temptation lies before them."

He swallows thickly and licks his lips as she shuffles closer up his body.

"Naughty boys know, they can only have what is given to them."

"Yes, Agent. Yes."

As she draws nearer he can smell her. He strains, fidgeting trying not to break the rules before she's hovering above his face. "Do you wish you could tear my panties off, Crane?"

"Yes Agent,"

"Agent what,"

"Agent, Adorable."

She smirks. "When a naughty boy wants to be good, he asks permission." she narrows her eyes at him. "Ask."

"May, may I, tear your panties off, Agent Adorable."

"Are you thirsty?

"Parched, Agent."

"Take them off," she instructs,her own breath gone shallow as his trembling hands reach up and grip the band. She obliges helping to kick them off before repositioning herself. He gazes longingly at her curls and inhales deeply, wanting badly to lap his tongue---" Lie back."

He does, his gaze on the ceiling until she is hovering directly above him, her hands reach outwards for the head board "Drink," and lowers herself.

Bracketed by her thighs he lifts his head high enough to press a kiss to her there. She moans.

That's all he needs, joyfully he begins to suckle, to drink everything she has to offer until her thighs begin to quake and she screams but he doesn't relent, taking her over the edge again soon afteruntil she swingsoff, breathless, panting on her back. They turn their heads towards each other and she notes that his beard glistens from her and she smiles. "Dirty, filthy boy."

"Only for you, Agent, only for you."

Recovering she reaches for his length and he hisses. "You were very good," she says, petting his hair.

"I could atone more." he offers, forgetting his manners, and his eyes widen. "I mean I could atone more, Agent Adorable. Let me pleasure you, please."

"You've been good, so you may."

He's looming over her in a flash, caging her in. "May I kiss you, Agent."

"You may."

It seems almost ridiculous that they have come so far tonight without once having their lips collide but when they do at this point, it makes complete sense. This kiss is slow, deep, sensual, binding. She can taste herself on him still when he twirls his tongue around her as he deepens the kiss, pressing her down into the mattress as he grows more passionate and urgent. While kissing his hands roam and cup her breasts that she had flaunted at him before and he pulls away long enough to admire them before taking a dark peak into his mouth and she moans appreciatively while running her fingers through his hair. "Just like that," she breathes and he switches sides.

It feels amazing. That's the clear thought that cuts through. It feels amazing to be here, with him, like this. To know his ass is sore and she did that. That mark on his neck came from her. His lips are on his skin and his thick cock is pressing against her, hot and stiff and when he finally slides in they both groan with a sense of 'at last'.

Finally.

Everything about tonight, all of it has been about reaching here. This bare, basic, primal thing. One body joined to another.

"May I move, Agent," he asks, breathing through his nose.

"Agent what," she pants, although her need makes it hard to hold on to her control.

"Agent Adorable Grace Abigail Mills. May I _move,_ " he growls.

She nods.

To hell with it.

To hell with the past that hurt her.

With the future that's unknown.

She's here. He's here. "Move," she says, her voice soft with relief as she gives in. "Slow. Look at me."

His eyes bore into hers and she reaches up to kiss him again. Moaning into his mouth when he hits her spot, strikes true. "Yes, Ichabod,"

"Grace, Abbie."

There is just the two of them, moving together. Hands stroking and lips tasting, into the long night ahead.

* * *

 

Tessa glares over her bowl of cereal in the morning when Abbie comes bounding in, too chipper, fresh and clean from a shower. A tender, thorough cleansing she had enjoyed with Crane. "Morning," Abbie calls. "What's your face like that for."

"I couldn't sleep. I thought you said he wasn't loud."

Abbie doesn't even try to keep a straight face before she doubles over laughing.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> plot next chap, I promise :/


	27. Chapter 27

Tessa nods to the box of cereal. "Help your---" She cuts off when Crane sidles in, moving very carefully toward counter he goes to take a seat, winces and rises again beside Abbie, a hand landing softly on her shoulder.

She looks up at him and he gazes down and whispers, earnest, "May I?" Abbie gives a small nod in response and he leans in, pressing a kiss to her crown and then her temple, caressing her cheek. And then withdraws with a soft, open look on his face. He grabs for an apple and motions that he's going to get some air, walking stiffly as he goes.

"Why's he walkingfunny."

Abbie's gaze was on him ashe left, eyes lingering on him as he turns the corner. They were different with each other this morning than they were the first time they slept together.

* * *

 

This morning, she'd felt protective of him on a level definitively beyond duty. She'd lain there, with his arms curled around her waist and his head resting blissfuly on her breast, lips touching the swells softly, with a sort of cherishing, while she twiddled strands of his hair between her fingers. She knew there was no turning back now. Come what may. "Thank you, Abbie," he'd said, interrupting her thoughts. "For last night. It was….it was everything I needed, wanted….hoped it could be."

A soft chuckle. "Thank you, Crane, for….giving in to me, like that. It…..it meant a lot that you trust me, in that way."

He'd nuzzled against her humming into her skin in a manner that had made her giggle of all things before he gave her a light little lick.

"Behave," she'd scolded mildly. He'd turn his blue eyes up at her, shining bright with anticipation, hope, and she'd laughed some more.

"Or? or else?" he prompted, as if looking for the slightest incentive to be bad.

"You really did enjoy yourself last night didn't you."

He'd raised himself up then and had kissed her thoroughly, leaning his forehead against hers when he drew away. "I want to enjoy, and be enjoyed by you, in many, many, varied ways, Abbie. Beyond this case. I will always have work to do, and I've never had much incentive to be a better person, but you provide it. And further not only for myself, but you. I want to be better, for you."

A wall can only stand so long with a ram persistently battering at it.

Admit it Mills, you're a goner. You like this, you…care for him. You want this. Everything else that makes you want to run away but when you're caught, here with him.

You're happy.

"Come here," And he leaned in, kissing her again, savouring the taste of her lips and wicked nimbleness of her tongue as he shifted and her legs wrapped around him. And then he was moving, deep slow strokes. It was tender, sweet, connected and intimate, like a new plane, a new level, that it hadn't been before. "I want you," she heard herself gasp as he moved faster.

He met her eyes and leaned down, lips pressing into hers again. When he spoke, it was frank, honest, impossible and ridiculous all at once, but true.

"I'm yours."

* * *

 

Tessa begins to smirk. "You tanned his hide didn't you."

"We're so not in a place in our relationship to be sharing details like that. " Abbie scolds but there's no heat to her words. "You don't see me asking about your love life."

"That's because it's hard to explain to man or woman why you won't be around more than two weeks? Also I mean I have ears." Tessa emphasizes. "So is that your new normal now, 'yes mistress, no mistress'" she snickers.

"One more word I will cut you."

"Oh please." Tessa chuckles as she lifts the spoon to her mouth. "At least threaten me with something you haven't done before."

Exasperated, Abbie rolls her eyes and pours cereal into her bowl. "I'll think of something."

Tessa winks. "You do that." She notes that Abbie is wearing the necklace. "It looks good on you."

A tear leaks from her eye. "Thanks."

* * *

 

A card and flowers, white lilies and carnations and a pale pink card, something he knows he ought to bring, wants to, on a level, but not with the same dire need to declare his heart that he had the day before.

These are for Katrina. Her transfer wasearly this morning. He takes the elevator and he's surprised when Cynthia ambles in. He blinks dumbly ather.

"Abe?" she queries.

"What are you doing?" he asks, alarmed.

"I'm checking out today." she explains, looking at the offerings in his hand warily. Skeptic.

"Why aren't you being wheeled out, where's Frank"

"He went for the car. I can walk, Abe, it's my arm that's broken not my legs and my X-ray came back clear. Who…." she nods toward his hands and his face colours.

"Katrina,"

Her expression fractures into one of concern,"what happened?"

"She…." he glances down at his feet. "She had an accident, the other day." Because Cynthia told him only yesterday that perhaps they have been too close, too involved in the others lives, perhaps it isn't wise to divulge the circumstances of his wife's accident.

"Is she alright?"

"I…..Yes, she will be, I'm headed up to her now."

"Oh."when the door dings she looks back at him in shock. She'd forgotten to press the button for the lobby. "Wow." she laughs. "Maybe I'm not ready to go home after all. But hey Abe, I'll come with you"

"Cynthia----" but she's already stepping out of the elevator and Abe follows though he stalls her in the hallway. "I….you don't have to do this,"

"You've been there for me, when I needed someone, let me be there for you. Alright?" She reaches with her uninjured hand to give his shoulder a squeeze. Her eyes beseeching him, let her try in this small way to return a bit of his complicated care.

He nods tightly as they walk down the hall and enter. He calls tentatively to the red haired wraith in the bed. "Kat? Katrina love?"

"Abe?"

"Yes, sweetheart, it's me."

Cynthia watches him tenderly laying the flowers and card down before reaching for his wife's hand.

"I'm sorry I didn't try harder to hear you," he whispers. Katrina shakes her head weakly from side to side.

"It wasn't your fault, love. Please believe me it wasn't." her eyes land on Cynthia waiting by the door. "Mrs. Irving---what happened to you!" she exclaims softly when she notes Cynthia's bandages.

"An accident," she explains with a little laugh. "Aren't we a pair?"

Katrina musters the smallest smile. "Yes, it would seem we are. Are you alright?"

Cynthia's eyes flicker to Abe as she speaks. "Frank's taking me home for a bit, to recuperate."

"Home?" Katrina asks, confused. Inexplicably, she glances at her husband, as if trying to gauge how he's handling the news.

"The city, he'll be around to help me with what I need---"

Nodding mutely Katrina swallows. "I…..I see"

"How are you? Are you alright?" Cynthia returns.

"They're keeping me to make sure I don't kill myself."

Abe feels the words like a punch to his gut. He's never known his wife to be blunt.

Cynthia blinks.

"My accident. I walked into the lake in my evening gown. On purpose. But I hope I'll be fine, eventually. Living is exhausting, at times. Especially when something doesn't, sit right, up here."

Abe's eyes begin to water.

"Or in _here_ ," Katrina finishes, meaningfully tapping her heart. Cynthia's find her own vision becoming cloudy; somehow she feels Katrina is speaking directly to the untoward unnamed thing that has gotten up the audacity to simmer between her and Abe. However she works to smile through it and say goodbyes.

"I wish you a full recovery, Kat. I mean it. Stay here with us, okay? With that oaf over there."

Katrina searches the other woman's eyes and reaches to grasp Cynthia's uninjured hand. "You get well too, Cynthia."

A sniffle, a bob of her head and Cynthia turns around, headed back for the elevator when she hears his footsteps.

"Cynthia---"

"Don't follow me." she says. "She…..my God suicide? Abe, she needs help, serious help and support. She needs you to be there for her to be a husband, care---"

"I've already failed at all of that and have been for some time."

"Better late than never."

"Are you coming back?"

"Go back to your wife Abe. Katrina needs her husband. I need----"

"Not him" He cuts in desperately. His eyes fierce and barely keeping his voice under control "Don't you _lie_ to me, Cynthia Irving, and tell me you need Frank. You've made a damn good show of making out like you don't need anyone and I'm not about to believe that suddenly, Mr. Absentee, is the man you need."

"Well maybe he needs me. Our marriage requires both of us to make it work."

"And what about what I need" He confesses.

"Whatever you do need----"

Were their lives different, were nothing this complicated and teetering dangerously on a betrayal that makes her stomach roil, Cynthia thinks, whatever it is that a man like Abraham needs, she could give it to him. And he could give to her.

No doubt there would be enough days when he would get on her nerves but he'd come slinking back with apologies and sweetness----perhaps this is just a daydream she forms.

Since it will never happen, she can make believe and fabricate.

She can imagine this alternative life that in no way resembles her own.

" _Cynn_ " he presses and just then one of the doctors jostles by him.

"whoops! Sorry," the man exclaims as he rights Abraham and continues bustling down the hall. In that second the elevator door dings open and she steps inside. The doors begin to close and she just barely catches him looking back towards her with a stricken look on his face. She half expects him to wedge himself in the door but he lets it slide closed.

Alone, she leans on the wall and tilts her head back.

"Whatever you _do_ need, Abe, it can't be me."

* * *

 

Watching her go Abe turns back down the hall to his wife, thinking to call quickly and check in with Agent Mills and Crane but then realizes as he pats his jacket that his phone is gone. He rolls his eyes and curses, body feeling weak and overwhelmed he leans against the wall. He knows he had it this morning. On top of everything else, he's lost that, now, too.

* * *

 

Orion Angel doesn't usually believe in luck, so he'll say he's just that good, that he could sneak into the same hospital, twice, in the same costume. He removes the pilfered phone from his pocket outside as he removes his coat and folds it up. He's a thorough crook, if nothing else, and he's curious where his mark has got to. He sends a quick message, and smiles to himself.

* * *

 

" Wants him dead cause he got the upper hand once? I don't know, I think I may have gotten a taste of his temper, but Hawley doesn't cross me as the type for murder Abbie,we've got the same training, and I've got a crooks mind, and I don't think it checks out." Tessa wrinkles her brow.

"It's the only motive that clears," Her phone rings. "Hold on. Mills. Perfect. Great. That's all Corbin you're making my life easy."

"Well?"

"Morales confessed to hiring Orion for the theft. And admitted to telling Caroline he could help her get contacts. So that's one end wrapped up neat."

"Except for who wants 'who's a good boy' over there dead." Abbie screws up her mouth and lands a punch in Tessa's arm.

"Ouch that's my wounded arm"

"You think that wasn't on purpose?"

Crane sits at the table with his coffee, listening to the women and feeling stupid he has nothing more to offer.

"We need Orion---chances are, he got double booked for the two crimes."

"He said he wasn't hired to kill Crane."

Tessa raises an incredulous brow. "I don't think you need me to tell you that believing Orion is a stupid idea, do you?"

"So…..the plan is then, catch Orion, we're safe."

"We didn't search his mother." Crane murmurs. The women turn. "Hawley's mother." he clarifies, working his mouth. Abbie and Tessa exchange a glance. "It may be nothing, but best not to leave anything overlooked?" he offers, shrinking under their scrutiny when he notices them looking at him so intently.

"Run a search." Abbie shrugs. "Alright, let's see. Nicholas Nevins, mother was……shit."

Tessa cranes her neck over Abbie's shoulder.

"You said he was missing a sister, right?" Abbie pinches the bridge of her nose and Tessa nods warily. "Hey Crane…..how old was Caroline when Mr. Parrish took her in?"

Ichabod's eyes dart while he thinks. "Very, _very_ young. She was already his when we met in school."

"You said Henry Parrish doesn't have anyone else. Well he did once."

"What do you-----" She offers the phone for both of them to scan the screen.

Nicholas Nevins' son of ambitious rising star designer Nora Parrish. "Coincidence?" 

Abbie clicks on the highlighted name and another bio opens. Apparently Nora Parrish adjusted poorly to the sudden fame and she began extensive drug use, during which time one of her children was removed from her custody and she divorced her husband, an average delivery man, Atticus Nevins. Tessa snorts. "Nevins would become a thief later." 

"Caroline and Hawley……" Crane trails off. "They're related."

"Brother and sister." Abbie clarifies. "And turns out, Henry and Caroline are biologically related, he's her grandfather. _Their_ , grandfather."

Tessa takes the phone and types quickly, searching. "She died five years ago. July….."

"The exhibition. I was on that exhibition with Hawley and Morales that summer."

"Poor health, only lists her son, under Nevins."

Crane frowns. "He had mentioned his mother being ill." he scrubs at his eyes. "Suppose….suppose that's what he was going to use his share for? To help her? But I ran with it and----oh my God. Because of me Caroline will never know her mother."

"Now's not the time for guilt trips like these, this sounds like solid reasoning now for Hawley to want you dead." Abbie says. Tessa nods agreeably.

"I couldn't see it before, but hell, I sold her up the river for a necklace from our mother." Tessa winces and Abbie's face clouds. "I will never forgive myself for that." she frowns. "Abbie I'm so sorry."

The elder Mills shakes her head tightly. "Move on Jenny we're on a job here."

Tessa swallows. "If I did that to Abbie for an heirloom, maybe Hawley does want you dead. You screwed up a chance to get his mother the help she needs."

"And we are waiting the in the man's home" Crane surmises, dubious.

"Hey he can't ambush us if we're already here."

"So, do we think he hired Orion or----" Tessa starts when an alert goes off.

Crane rummages in his coat for his phone.

"It doesn't matter, really, Orion is a loose canon I can't afford to leave out on the streets, either way we need to grab him."

"Abbie----"

"So, are we going to wait here for Hawley?"

"Abbie---"

"If he's not due for a few days…." Abbie trails off, thinking. Her phone rings. "What the hell….."

"Caroline Parrish is missing." Abbie stares at the phone, as if she's misheard. "Corbin? Excuse me?"

"She was brought in, we questioned Morales, we went back for her just now, and there's no one in her room."

Her head begins to throb. "Okay, Joe, I need you guys to head over to Mr.Parrish. Start that investigation." Tessa nods towards the phone

"What was that about?"

"I….I don't even know where to begin"

" _Agent Adorable!_ "

Abbie snaps out of her thoughts with Tessa and turns a soft concerned gaze on him.

"Yes Crane?"

Tessa half chokes herself laughing and Abbie swats at her again which sends her hissing in pain, clutching her arm.

"I….just received amessage from Abraham. He….he wants me down at the studio, where they're setting up."

Abbie narrows her eyes. "Thought shooting didn't start till next week."

Throwing her hands up in the air Tessa exclaims, "Hey, that's just what Hawley told me."

"Why does Abe want you there"

"A revision? I suppose the playwrights want my vision on something or another." he grumbles, irritable.

"Oh woe is him." Tessa coos. "Needed on set for your film adaptation life is so unfair."

Abbie frowns. "You got a spare gun on you?"

"I mean I wouldn't be who I am, alive much less, if I didn't."

"You Crane, do you know how to shoot?"

He blinks at her, astonished. "I---I've never had need---"

"Well I hope you're a fast learner. This sounds like a setup. Let's pack up out of here."

"You're not gonna call the boys?"

Abbie shakes her head. "They're tied up now, and besides, someone leaked we were back in town and rigged that bomb at Crane's cabin. My team might be compromised."

"What's this," Tessa folds her arms and kicks back in her chair, eyes glinting with excitement. "Grace Abigail Mills, going rogue?"

Abbie laughs and clicks her gun. "Well it's about  damn time I had some fun too, don't you think?"


	28. Chapter 28

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well. 
> 
> Do you trust me.
> 
> Ask yourself if you know me and do you trust me. Let's go.

" They're a cocky bastard to think they can knock you off in broad daylight though," Tessa comments as they saunter onto the lot, pausing outside studio four, where it's slated "Awake Apocalypse, Part 1 Apocalypse Chronicles"

"Orion's always been cocky, that's nothing new."Abbie's phone buzzes and she answers it quickly as she moves to stand beside Crane. His fingers wrap around hers and squeeze. "Mills," she grunts.

"Mills where are you."

"Damnit Corbin can't you handle anything on your own" she snaps, exasperated.

" _Mills!_ where are you"

She hesitates. "What, what is it."

"Mr. Parrish is over here having a _meltdown_ and saying  'he's lost his mind."

"Who---"

"He's saying that----" and the line goes dead.

Her pulse races. "Corbin? Corbin?"

"Abbie what's going on"

Her heart races. "Corbin's line went dead. Caroline's missing I sent him to start investigating with Henry. Sounds like Henry's having a panic attack." she shakes her head. "We get through this, then we deal with everything else. Let's roll."

The beginnings of a cavern, a shadowy forest and open grave have been crafted. It's quiet inside. Their footsteps echo. Tessa whispers aside to Abbie "Run this plan by me again?"

"Jeez Jenny what are you, new"

Her sister gives a crooked grin. " I'm messing with you Abbie. Yeesh you used to get wound tight back then too."

"Reminsice later? Sound like a plan?"

Tessa rolls her eyes and is about to have a comeback when they hear movement at the other end. She follows her earlier instructions and ducks behind a prop, flattening herself against a wall. Crane bellows confidently, a ruse they practiced. "Abraham! Hello Abraham! It's me! Ichabod! I'm here!"

Someone emerges from behind a piece of the scenery.

But something else feels distinctly wrong.

This is not who she expected. Abbie raises her gun higher. "Who are you." The man's mouth curls and in her concealed spot Tessa holds her breath. She knows this face, she's heard this voice.

"Speak or I shoot" Abbie commands.

"I'm just a man who's had _enough of Ichabod Crane_ , interfering in my children's lives." His weapon is already drawn and aimed levelly at Crane's head. "I have made so many efforts, to keep my daughter out of the spotlight, but you're bringing the very sort of glitz and dangerous glamour to her home town---what, you hope she'll end up like her mother? Drug addicted, ailing, alone? I told Parrish, told him, look after my daughter, don't let her get distracted by this.Don't let her be Nora.And then my son!" he takes a step forward. "I had to leave, Nora, because of how things went. I did awful things to keep her afloat, I'm not proud of it, when I finally get out, we're destitute, broke. I find out Nora's in bad health and my boy, he says, I'm gonna find a way, to help her dad. I'm gonna get mom well." His face crumples. "And then, and then we're gonna search for my sister, and get our family back. But you killed that dream when you ran off with everything on your treasure hunt. Nora died. You screwed over my son. And you've brought all the right temptations to dangle before Caroline to ensure she follows in her mother's footsteps. So I've had it with you. My son? make you more money? Help your star rise? No, Crane, I don't think so."

"You're Atticus Nevins." Abbie says steadily. "You use to drive trucks."

Nevins seems momentarily thrown by Abbie's voice. He narrows his eyes.

"What you know about who I was doesn't change what I'm about to do, to this long necked stork over here that has been inadvertently meddling in the lives of my kids---"

"No but it makes it personal, Nevins," Abbie grits out.

In her hiding place Tessa holds her breath, waiting, waiting, holding her bead steady.

"You're the son of a bitch that robbed Lorelei."

He goes still. "What do you know about that---"

"I know you killed my mother, you bastard."

" _She shouldn't have moved_." Nevins retorts, his arm wavers. "I didn't mean to do that, I just needed the jewelry, needed the money. Raising a kid on my own and I was still looking out for Nora----"

"You took our mother, and stole her legacy"

"I didn't do such a good job, you're wearing it now, ain't you"

"Did you visit grandpa Parrish? Threaten him? My guys say he's having a breakdown."

"I'd wager, _Abigail_ , that he's a bit more concerned about the fact that _dear Caroline_ has gone, missing." That voice comes from behind her and Abbie whirls around and steps back, Crane moving swiftly with her as Orion steps into view, with a struggling gagged Caroline.

Nevins eyes blaze. "This wasn't part of my deal, Angel."

Abbie chews her cheek. "You told me you weren't hired to kill Crane."

"Surprise! I _lied_." Orion snaps and jerks Caroline in front of him, locking an arm around her shoulders presses the gun to her temple. "So here's what's going to happen."

"You're going to let my daughter go." Nevins shouts, swinging aim towards Orion.

"I don't think so. I remember our deal, Nevins. But I like the way mine sounds better. I get money, and I get the girl."

Caroline's eyes widen in terror. "You're both gonna drop the gun" Abbie commands and Orion sneers, ignoring her.

"You're gonna tell that pretty boy son of yours, to give me, a big pay day. Or else his sister gets it. And then, I kill this one, because I follow through on my word and I'm sick and tired of seeing him wrapped around Abigail. I still have plans for us, Abbie. There's gotta be a reason you've let me slip through your fingers all this time, and I feel the same way. I've never stopped thinking about you. But there can't be an us while Crane lives"

There's a three way triangle in the middle of the set , each holding a gun on the other.

"Unless you're willing to come with me, Abigail, I'll let Crane live. And Nevins makes a call now. Or Caroline gets to meet her mum at last." Caroline's muffled panicked scream makes Nevins falter. Orion hisses venomously in her ear. _"I **told**_ _you I don't like loose ends_." he turns back to his audience. Tessa screws up her mouth. She could shoot either Orion or Nevins from her hiding place but would she be quicker than the other that might fire at Crane and Abbie? But there's a plan and she's supposed to stick to it.

Abbie swallows. "So It was Nevins was it? he hired you for this? And you've been the mastermind, all along, The sniper----"

"You've a mole on your team, Abigail, surely you've figured that out by now." he grins and bellows " ** _Someone_** better dial or _someone **DIES**_."

There's a quick movement that Abbie feels behind her back and then a click. It's near. Too near. She turns, very slowly and finds herself staring down a barrel.

The world stops.

Everyone in the room pauses, thrown by what they see. 

"Crane?" she whispers, voice broken, disbelief written on her face. " _Crane?_ "

He glances at her and then looks away. "I've got a bargain for you, sir. She's wearing this beautiful emerald necklace. I'm sure it's worth its own small fortune. You can still bully Nevins for Caroline's life. Spare me, you can have ransom money, jewels, and Abbie. Or if you won't, I'll shoot."

"Let Caroline go!" Nevins roars.

" _ **QUIET!!!**_ " Orion shrieks, swinging between all of them. A gun trained on him, one pointed at Abbie by her traitorous charge, out to save his hide, and his own on Caroline. And Abbie, gone into shock, her composure begins to waver.

"Do we have a deal" Crane demands sharply. "You'll either get her alive, richer. Or not at all."

" ** _Crane_**." Abbie beseeches, torn inside. Wounded, gutted. Tears gather in her eyes. 

Betrayed

"How---"

"Lower your weapon, Abbie."

Tessa's recalibrated, she can't stick to the plan anymore, and prepares her aim when there's a rustle on the far end and she can see a barrel edging out from between fake trees.

No.

The aim is wrong. It's all wrong. They didn't count on this.

Out there, Abbie lowers her weapon, looking brokenly at the man she's begun to feel so deeply for. " _I **trusted** you,_ " she rasps. " ** _I let you in."_**

Crane's lip quivers but he holds steady. "We all make mistakes."

* * *

 

A finger squeezes a trigger.

There's a bang.

Two.

Three, four.

Screams.

 

Searing pain.

 

_If, I_

_should, stay._

_I would only be in,_

_your way,_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again.
> 
> Do you trust me. 
> 
> Everything isn't what it seems.


	29. Chapter 29

Tessa had reminded them of his obsession with Abbie. They'd surmised, if he was out to kill Crane, that wanting Abbie could be his motive. They thought a double cross would confuse him. A distraction.Long enough at least, for Tessa to set off her round from her hiding spot and for them to disarm him. Case finished, wrapped up tidy, neat.

Crane had been jittery practicing back at the house. Arm shaking uncontrollably. "Abbie I cannot." He begged. "Please I beg you do not make me do this. How could you ask me to do this to you? He did this to you."

She'd wrapped her fingers around his own trembling ones and leaned up to kiss his cheek. "You trust me with your life, and so much more Crane. We are two people that probably have no business together but, you make me happy---"

"You make me, happy, Abbie," he murmured softly, eyes brimming with tears. "I would do anything for you, but this? I can't even stomach it, Abbie I lo--"

"We need to put him away. For everyone's safety. But I'm also not ready to lose you now." She'd smirked. "After all the time trouble I've gone to keeping your hide alive."

"But to do this----"

"You hold it like this, and you shouldn't need to shoot, but if you do, aim straight ahead, that way, yes just like that and squeeze."

"I cannot!" he'd exclaimed again and Tessa would have rolled her eyes if it wasn't evident how much pain he was in. To be honest, even understanding necessity and focus required, it still made her queasy to watch it. She hated herself fresh for ever putting Abbie in position to experience something like this. Crane's voice came out determined but wavered still with emotion. He cupped her face "I cannot force you to relieve that trauma."

" If we're going to be convincing it's the chance I'll take" she'd snapped, and then reached for him" You've trusted me with your life," she reiterated. "I'm trying to show you right now, I feel the same. You got this Crane. I know you do. You say you wanna be my partner? Ride or die? Go all in with me on this----" He'd folded his arm abruptly around her, pulling her close, a hand in her hair. She could feel his fear. How nervous he was. But it thrummed deep within her that his anxiety seemed rooted in their farce. She half worries he won't be able to carry out the plan but she decides to trust him. This is it, now or never. This is their biggest hurdle. His lips pressed to her hair and then down to her face, repeatedly until she began to laugh just so she wouldn't cry. His high strung emotions were catching. "We're gonna make it out alive." she promised him. "All of us." this, a nod to her sister who bit her lips together and nodded in turn. "Now say the words back to me Crane. Cold, mean." And Abbie and Tessa coached him through the lines. Practiced the smooth removal of her other firearm.

It would be fool proof. Orion appears, Crane 'betrays' Abbie, he gets distracted and Tessa takes the shot.

But they didn't count on company. Anticipate Nevins, and the mystery shooter and Caroline hostage beside. 

All of it, a nasty surprise.

* * *

 

And then the bullets were flying and bodies pitched away and screams and shouts and then quiet before the whine and scream of sirens and authorities storming and charging in. A team with guns raised and "Hands behind your head"

And bleeding bodies.

Shallow breaths.

Vacant eyes.

* * *

 

Bullet one, to neck.

Bullet two, abdomen.

Bullet three, left pectoral

Bullet four, leg

And the bonus round, shredded through a hand and wrist.

* * *

 

Crane's round killed Orion. Clean shot to his neck, through the throat. He went down and gurgled and choked and suffocated with the blood spurting through his fingers, clutching in shock.

His return shot blew Crane's leg out from under him, upper thigh. He staggered and crashed to the ground, an arm hooked around Abbie's waist as he went down. Out of the way of Nevins shot---but Abbie got him in the gut, falling to his knees and holding the wound, calling out for his daughter.

A devastating way, to reunite, long lost father and daughter.

Caroline fallen to the ground, too close to Orion's dead red body, tears blurring her vision and screaming helplessly into her gag.

And a scream a mid an exchange of fire.

When Tessa threw herself in the way of that one shoot they hadn't seen. Hadn't counted on.  

She shot thrice.

Grunted and fell.

It's bloody. It's carnage. Crane won't let Abbie go but she has to go to her, she has to know if-----

" _Jenny!_ "

His wound burns like a flaming nail but he latches on tight to her, holding Abbie close, cradling her head. "It's okay Abbie. It's okay."

She didn't think she would cry.

She didn't think she'd have had tears left for her.

What a pleasant surprise, that the damn opens up then, that the river flows and her throat is raw from screaming.

Are you alone now, Mills?

Are you well and truly alone?

" ** _JENNY"_**  


	30. Chapter 30

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> WE"RE HERE.
> 
> MASSIVE thank you and love to ALL of you that have been reading and supporting and helping me work through this piece. Hope you enjoy it! <3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Imagine Whitney's version, obviously.

Three Months later.

Andy Brooks was stripped of all badges and merits for collusion with a wanted felon and convicted. He confessed to everything nursing what remained of his damaged hand on the stand, plead guilty. The why? He was promised money. The kind of money that could take an extended holiday and see the world and afford expensive jewels like the emerald necklace Frank Irving had bought his wife.

Nevins, who survived----lucky bastard---Abbie had muttered. Was charged with attempted murder and first degree murder in the reopened case of Lori Mills.

It was a good thing Abbie had been recording.

Crane dropped charges against Caroline and Luke even though Abbie had said he was going to easy. "I have no desire to fight, anymore Abbie. I direly want, no, need, peace."

And he hadpeaceably let his archives be curated and even donated more than half of its contents to the museum. A fact that had, remarkably, smoothed over public opinion with Luke Morales and Hawley.

Nicholas Hawley, guilty of eccentricity not unlike Crane, and nothing more---whatever illegally obtained goods aside, a hobby he has been thoroughly put off from since---- was alerted that his father was under arrest and had flown in early. Caroline meets her brother, her Hollywood connection, for the first time down in a courtroom for sentencing. A shaken, fretful, grateful grandfather Henry Parrish, hugging them both tight and promising to explain, apologizing again and again for the fractured, tattered bonds of their family.

Joe Corbin, recovering from a concussion after Brooks knocked him out and had bound him and Mr.Parrish, then headed for the studio. Presumably back up for Orion. Joe's on leave.

Abraham heard about everything last, over the news, sitting bedside to Katrina. Telling him in a distant far away voice that she believes their marriage has run its course.

He musters a few protests, because he should, because his name is husband. Because she's ill, for crying out loud she cannot mean it.

She tells him she's very certain. She does not feel whole, with him. She hopes that when she is released, and has settled into a regular treatment, therapists and such, that she can find her core.

Find her will and want for herself.

She wants to live.

She just needed to convince other parts of her of the fact.

He didn't take her on. Just took her home and tried to make her well.

Frank was delayed by the hold up of the case and Cynthia was dropped back off at her home. She'd tried to imagine if she would return here. If she'd be returning to it alone. Would healing her injuries in anyway heal her and Frank?

When she heard the news, she just about dialled Abraham to ask if Crane was alright. If he was, what had happened. Stopped herself, though. Now wasn't the time to look back.

* * *

 

Crane cries out her name. Over and over in ecstasy. "Harder! Please! Yes! oh Agent!"

She'd gone easy on him while his leg healed. But she obliged him now whenever she could. "Do you like that" she pants. "Do you want more?"

"Please Agent Adorable I beg you,"

"Right, here?"

A low, deeply satisfied moan hums through his body and she smiles to herself as she presses deeper.

"Ohhh."

"I got you baby."

"Yes Agent," he babbles incoherently, on the threshold of delirious pleasurable bliss. "Yes, yes, yes,"

She presses a kiss to his spine.

Oh he bellows. It echoes on and on, she's never heard her name in stereo before but he does a damn good job of it. And then turns around and smothers her with kisses, holding her tight in his arms and murmuring gratefulness and begging for her to command him, to boss him around.

They don't always do it this way.

It's just an exciting thing they engage in, often.

He happily goes down on his knees and labours arduously with her fingers gripping his hair and arching her hips and after when he nestles between her thighs and drives into her again and again and she is reckless and full of wild abandon with him, and she loves it. She's so free, she's so happy.

She loves him.

Well, at least, she'd better.

She's wearing his ring and all. 

Sparkly, ambitious, beautiful thing, glinting on her finger even now as she clutches him tight. Clinging to him, their lips seeking the other as their bodies rock and sway.

"Abbie, Abbie I love you,"

Their lips lock again and he swallows her scream of joy and release, and when he finds his end, pulls away just far enough to be nose to nose.

"I love you, Ichabod Crane."

His eyes twinkle as he smiles down at her, and moves a hand to caress her belly.

Grace Abigail Mills, is also going on leave.

"We should get going," he whispers.

She nods and takes a deep breath, finding strength and comfort and home in his blue eyes. Seeing that he finds the same things reflected back. "Yeah, let's go."

* * *

 

She's waiting for them, at the airport. After everything, Hawley thinks of her as a friend, and he's pulled some strings to get his friend Tessa, out of the country for a while. A flight at least.

Abbie and Crane stride forward, and Abbie goes straight into her sisters out stretched arms. She's wearing a loose low necked tank that shows her latest scar. Above her left breast. A mark that mirror's Abbie's. Something she wears proudly, even though Abbie had cursed to no end when she'd finally come out of ER. She earned that one diving in the way of Andy's bullet. Covering Abbie's one side while Crane had covered the other.

Around her neck hangs _her_ Legacy Necklace. It was taken off of Orion's body and restored to the Irving's----following up on a report of theft from Cynthia's locker---only to have Frank give it to Abbie, after he was briefed on the whole complicated story of it all. Cynthia clearly hadn't wanted it anymore anyway.

Abbie had been wearing her own when she'd gone to visit her sister, pale and gaunt lying on the hospital bed and had clasped it around her neck, demanding she pull through. "I still have a lot of hell to give you." she'd scolded. "Don't you dare die."

Tessa remembers that now and tears up. She's been more or less skulking around Hawley's manor, hiding. Warrant still out for Jennifer Mills, after all, not Tessa Weir….but she didn't want to take any chances. But getting out of dodge right now, seems a solid way to let the dust settle. She's just got a few partings to say first.

Just as she wears her necklace, Abbie wears hers.

So there they are, the Mills sisters, and the lovingly made heirlooms from their mother, restored to them. Only, Abbie notices that Tessa's looks different when she pulls back. Less, somehow. "Hey. What happened----"

Tessa reaches into her pocket and pulls out a smaller, neater looking gold chain, with a smaller piece of emerald attached to it. "I'm gonna be gone for a while, Abbie. Keep this for your little one, yeah? A piece of mama a piece of us?"

The gravity of what she's done makes Abbie's face crumple as she holds her again.

Forgiveness is a long road to walk. And she'll be walking it a while still to ever fully forgive and trust her sister. But this….this is a start. A piece of their mother, of them, a gift for her first born. "I should be glad if I never see you again after everything you've done." Abbie chokes. Tessa nods tearfully into her shoulder.

"I wouldn't blame you."

"But I'm still going to miss you, Jennifer, Mills." Abbie says, hugging tighter. "It's not complete but I love you. You're my sister."

The pilot pokes his head out and calls that they need to leave soon. Tessa turns back to her shorter, elder, glowing sister, and the man that turned out to be more than just work after all. "You take care of them."

He gives a salute. "Guard them with my life, Miss---"

"Weir." Tessa smiles as tears run down her cheeks. "We'll stick to Weir, for a bit." she looks at Abbie and grasps her arms. "Be safe. Be happy. Live well. Love this enjoy this Abbie, you deserve all of this." she can't hide from her own tears and Abbie snickers at her discomfort. "Shut up." Tessa laughs. "I'll….I'll come back, one day. Just….just know, In spite of the shit I've done, Abbie you'll always be my sister, I'll _always_ love you, sis."

_If, I_

Tessa pulls away and begins marching towards the plane.

_Should, stay_

Crane wraps his arm around Abbie, hugging her tight as the watch.

_I would only be in,_

_your way,_

Abbie leans on him.

_So I'll,_

_go._

_But I, know._

_I'll think of you, every step of,_

_the way._

Tessa boards and turns around at the top of the stairs, looking down, she drinks them in. A happy pair. They've got each other. She blows them a kiss.They blow one back.

_And I,_

_will always,_

_love you,_

She turns her back, and walks in. The door closes. The plane glides, the wheels lift, and flies away.

_Ooh,_

_will always,_

_love you_

* * *

 

_You, my darling you,_

_Mhmm_

_Bittersweet,_

Katrina sees her therapist. Attends a support group. Confesses on night to everything.

_Memories,_

All of it. Abraham had understood. He didn't bother working himself into a rage with Crane. Had merely told the man, I know. They didn't speak for a month.

But Crane had been persistently trying to make amends and well----what with all his good news, Abraham couldn't very well turn down the offer of Godfather. He had been attentive, supportive, listening to her and being kind to Katrina in every way he could. He made decent. Made himself be a husband. Kissed her cheek and held her hand, told her he loved her and she said it back--because it was still true---just not in the way a marriage needs, and,Katrina knew his mind was elsewhere. She heard him at night downstairs, reading over the same passage, laughing over a secret joke.

She was grateful for his ear. And for being there for her, through everything. She told him as much.

But she doesn't think he was surprised, when she came in with the papers, and asked him to sign.

_That is all,_

_I'm taking, with me,_

* * *

 

The scars faded. Her arm, healed. Frank did, read to her, surprisingly. He did his best, to make time. But in some odd way, it felt like he was trying to make up for the time he lost, rather than invest in time they could have. And Cynthia's mind, was indeed elsewhere. They talked, often, her and Frank, about them. About…..the good, early, times.

About who they are.

What they need.

So, goodbye,

_Please,_

_Don't cry,_

She was chomping at the bit to get back to work. She needed to step into other worlds and share the creative minds of others and, she'd been beset by a curious notion to begin writing herself.

The idea of writing her own book, had made her mouth quirk.

She'd need an agent, wouldn't she?

Through all of this, Frank supported her. He made decent. Made himself be a husband. Kissed her cheek and held her hand. Told her he loved her. That would never change. She told him the same.

And he took it quite well, when she came in with the papers, and asked him, to sign.

_We both know,_

_I'm not what you,_

_you need,_

_And I,_

_Will always,_

_love you,_

_I, will always love you_

_You, ooh_

* * *

 

Cynthia got back into town last week, but it's her first day at the office. Abraham startles when he sees a familiar silhouette pass by his office and then dives down the hall way after wards, barging into the room and half spooking her with her armload of files that cascade to the floor. One is a heavy envelope that he picks up hurriedly.

"You didn't say you were back" he starts accusingly. She glances over her shoulder at him.

"I'm fine, Abe, how are you" she replies, bemused. "Can you open that and see what it is, I've got a lot to get back in order in here."

"You sure?"

"Yes, Abe, go ahead."

He tears it open and removesa sheaf of papers that only takes a moment for him to understand he shouldn't see. "These are from Frank," he says carefully. "They're…."

"Oh," She turns around and grabs for them, something else falls out and Abe reaches for it. "Yes." she carries on as she looks it over. "He expedited it. huh."

_I, hope._

_Life, treats you kind._

It's a card, simple thing, written in Frank's hand. "I hope he gives you the love I couldn't." Abe's mouth goes dry.

_And I hope,_

_you have all you've dreamed of_

Cynthia takes it from him, scans it and blushes.

"Sorry, I think he got the wrong idea about us."

Abe takes the card out of her hand and sets it down, crowding her against her desk. "I don't think he did."

"What?"

"I don't think he did."

_And I wish you joy,_

_and happiness,_

He's close, her pulse races.

"Kat---" she starts.

"we're getting divorced."

She swallows.

"He didn't get the wrong idea, Cynn. Let me show you."

_But above all this,_

_I wish you,_

_love,_

He pauses, searching her eyes until she leans forward and his hands come up to her face. Her eyes close. She feels his breath on her skin, she smiles and tilts her head. and----

_And I_

Their lips meet. Finally. At last.

_Will always love you,_

They fit. Their hearts soar with the relief and rightness of it.

_I will always love you._

They mould. His arms go to her waist, her own around his neck.

_I will always love you._

This time next year, they'll be married.

And expecting a playmate for baby Lorena Mills-Crane.

_I will always love you._

Abbie and Crane married on a beautiful summer day.

_I will always love you._

_I, I will always love you._

Baby Lorena wears her own little emerald necklace. Her own piece of Mills Legacy.

* * *

 

_You._

Katrina goes travelling. She finds herself seated next to a blond woman in paris.

"Hello!" she greets, chipper. The woman looks askance at her. Notes the red hair and beaming smile. She's pretty. 

_Darling, I love you._

"My name's Katrina," she extends her hand to shake and the woman does, warily. "You're really pretty," Katrina blurts. She laughs.

_I'll always._

She hesitates.

"……Jenny…..but I prefer Tessa."

"Is that your middle name?"

Another laugh.

"Yeah." Tessa nods. "Something like that."

"You know I had a necklace just like that once." Katrina notes, though her eyes never leave Tessa's.

"Small world."

_I'll always,_

_love you._

**_Fin_ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I Will Always Love you, words by Dolly Parton, sung by Whitney Houston in the film.


End file.
